


my little bird

by preshire



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Medical stuff, Mpreg, Pregnancy, To parents lmao, fond nick, idk - Freeform, weepy uncle louis, whiney harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preshire/pseuds/preshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry likes nick a whole load, and he gets a whole load in him.</p><p>or: the one where nick knocks harry up, with some very questionable character timelines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my little bird

**Author's Note:**

> so... i just wrote 25k of gryles mpreg instead of doing any of the other things i was supposed to do. it's supposed to be in 3 parts, but i cbf.
> 
> warning: i am not a doctor. i know very little about pregnancy, but i tried to make it as realistic as possible, but hey it's an au. if something doesn't make sense, medically, just remember that. 
> 
> also, very terrible character development ok i'm sorry and very little smut after you get past the first part you're pretty much got nothing but carefree joking around <3

**my little bird**

 

Part 1 // fertile

_you say y-e-s to everything_

Harry is squirming uncomfortably under the gaze of the most elitist group of people who he has ever come across (and Harry's been to LA).

"I suppose, if you sort of squint and tilt your head a bit he's alright looking. If you're into wonky looking blurry blokes."

Nick scoffs, elbowing Turner in the side. "Don't be a shit, babe." He reaches across the table and runs his fingers through Harry's hair. He looks as if he meant to just ruffle it and be done with it, but Harry's curls are deceptively soft and demand to be stroked whenever the opportunity arises. "Harry here's got a million pound face."

"Several million pounds, last I heard." Gillian pipes in, sipping on her drink and grinning at him. Harry likes Gillian very much. She's always nice to him even though the rest of them aren't really. Aimee barely acknowledges him, and Turner?

Turner doesn't think he's got a million pound face. Harry's okay with that; he thinks Turner's sort of a cockhead. But they tolerate each other, because Harry is Nick's friend and Turner is Nick's boyfriend. And Turner's been there longer, so Harry has no real claim to Nick. His only advantage is that he's famous and interesting, and even then he sometimes thinks he's at a disadvantage.

When Louis first met Nick and his partner, he'd referred to them later as the most perfect pair of twats he'd ever met. He'd said they're both incredibly materialistic and pretentious and wore dumb clothes that complimented the others' dumb clothes. Harry quietly agreed; not that Nick was a twat. Just that Turner was one and they went together very well.

Turner's short enough that he and Nick look bizarre while standing next to the other. Turner's got longer blonde hair that's always pulled back in an obnoxious ponytail. But he's got a face that is uniquely attractive, bulging lips and high cheekbones and the sharpest jawline he's ever seen. It's like someone had thrown together a combination of traditionally attractive traits, and the product was a face that was on the verge of being breathtakingly gorgeous, and incredibly ugly. They're both good looking, but in a way that makes you think about rainy days and Aristotle.

But besides their physical appearances, Nick and Turner have a lot in common. They're both huge dicks, for one. They're both loud and uninhibited, and they both know how break a person down with hardly a look. They bicker and argue constantly, and they're both stiff and have the same defense mechanisms. They dress similarly, but not precisely the same (Nick likes to have his dress-down days, whereas Turner is always impeccably dressed).

The only significant difference is that Nick is warm where Turner is cold. Turner's frigid and icy and unapproachable and his eyes are so pale a blue they're nearly white. Nick's friendly and kind and makes friends easily. He makes you feel comfortable in any situation, while Turner does the exact opposite.

Or maybe, it's just because Turner doesn't like him. Maybe he's perfectly friendly to everyone else.

Harry sort or believes that Turner doesn't like him because Nick likes Harry. Or how Harry's only 19 and he's made himself a place in their lives without even consulting them because Nick's cleared a space for him. And it's so painfully obvious (to Harry at least) that he's got an enormous crush on Nick. Whenever he feels a bit sick or a bit sad that Turner doesn't like him, he just likes to think about the fact that he'd very much like to steal his boyfriend. He won't act on it, and it makes him feel a bit shitty, but he'd still like to.

Turner hums in acknowledgment of what Gillian's said, and takes a dainty sip of his water. "Hm, can't suppose you can trust the judgment of a million preteen girls touching themselves to pictures of Harry Styles."

Nick laughs, but the rest of them titter slightly nervously. Harry doesn't smile, just copies Turner's movement and takes a drink. He's drinking a soft drink, because he was planning on driving home after, but it feels like it makes him seem even younger.

"Anyways," Turner continues snottily, turning away from Harry and to the rest of their group as if he didn't exist. "You may be wondering why we've asked you all to come here."

Pixie snorts. She'd been in Madrid previous to this. Nick had insisted she fly back, because this was apparently Important.

"We have news." Turner smiles brightly at them; placing his hand on top of Nick's on the table and turns to the man. "Would you like to tell them, darling?"

Nick looks nervous, and Harry's sure that he's not the only one who can see it. But he smiles tightly, and surveys his friends. "Turner and I have decided on something."

"Are you getting married?" Aimee blurts out, perfect brows narrowed suspiciously. Ian pats her shoulder supportively. "If you're getting married and you didn't tell me, I'll kill you both."

"We're not getting married," Nick waves dismissively, and Harry zeroes in on how Turner's face turns up derisively at that.

"They can't get married, idiot." Henry's partner, David leans in closer to the conversation, from where the two had appeared to be wrapped in conversation. "Not legal, is it?"

"Oh, well. The equivalent then?" Aimee ambles on. Nick just shakes his head.

"No!" Turner jumps in, glancing at the now silent Nick and rolling his eyes. "Something better. Nick and I... have decided to have a baby."

The table is silent. Harry's mouth falls open, drink halfway to his mouth. He sets it down, and his eyes flicker at the people around him to gauge their reactions.

They're all doing the same thing, looking to see how to react. Harry looks to Nick, who is curiously looking down at his hand entwined with Turner's and he's tracing their knuckles with his other hand. His eyelashes are brushing against his cheekbones. He's not happy about this. Harry can tell, they all can tell. Turner must know too, surely. He can’t tell if they’re serious or not.

Henry seems to be thinking the same thing. "Are you joking?" He blurts out, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't serious."

Turner nudges him, and Nick looks up. "It's not a joke! We're going to be dads, we've decided it."

"Oh," Gillian clears her throat. "Well, congratulations you two! I'm happy if you're happy!"

Turner smiles sweetly at her, Gillian clearly giving the correct answer. "Thank you, Gillian."

The rest of the table chimes in their congratulations, until it's only Aimee and Harry who haven't spoken. Nick looks between them, eyebrows raised at them. "Aimee? Harry? You alright?"

Aimee catches Harry's eye from across the table, and he notices that hers are flashing angrily. She purses her lips, painted bright purple, and she throws her chair back, dramatically. Without a word, she storms away, Ian following pathetically after her.

Nick watches her walk away, a wrecked expression on his face. He looks like he wants to chase after her, but he's held down by Turner's hand who is still clutching onto him tightly.

As Aimee disappears from view, Turner and Nick and the rest of the table turn to Harry. Turner's face is challenging and defiant, daring Harry into doing of saying something. But Nick's face is desperate; pleading.

Harry swallows loudly. "Er," he genuinely doesn't know what to say. "Wow. That's big news."

Turner rolls his eyes, yet again. "Yes, it is." He says condescendingly, and it makes Harry's toes curl in contempt. "Astute observation."

Harry's nostrils flair. He takes a large gulp of his drink, wishes it was something stronger, and quietly stands. "I'm going to see if Aimee is alright," he said pointedly. Nick bites his lip, but watches him go. As Harry's walking away, he hears Turner's voice laughing, "dunno what's gotten into them."

Harry pushes through the people crowding the lounge they're in, who all seem very interested to meet him. He smiles politely, but doesn't stay to chat beyond asking, "did you see a woman with orange hair come through here?"

Aimee's outside, pulling Ian's jacket up closer to her neck with a cigarette delicately held between two fingers. She and Ian both look incredibly annoyed, but she manages to crack a weak smile when she sees Harry.

"Harry," she extends the arm not holding the cigarette and gestures for them to come closer. He does, and when he's close enough she places the arm on his shoulder and squeezes gently, as if she needs the reassurance. "This is stupid."

Ian scoffs, shaking his head. "Absolute rubbish."

"Why the fuck would they decide that?" Aimee's voice rises, and she takes a drag of the cigarette to calm herself. "They're fucking miserable already. Why would they decide to spend to bring a baby into that mess?"

"I don't know," Harry replies, and he leans into the older woman. "Nick doesn't want to, that's for sure."

Aimee laughs derisively. "Obviously! He looked like he'd rather fillet himself then tell us."

"I bet you anything it's all Turner." Ian says darkly, and Aimee nods in agreement.

"You guys don't like Turner either?" Harry asks, genuinely surprised. They all seemed to get along fine with the man.

The two exchange a look of silent communication, and Harry sighs. They're such a couple.

Finally, Ian speaks again. "None of us like Turner."

Aimee smirks. "Not even Nick really likes Turner."

Harry raises his eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Look at it this way," Aimee says carefully. "Nick's never done commitment before him, and I doubt he wanted to do it. He met Turner when I first came to London and met him. They were on their shaky first dates, and Turner was dead aggressive from the start. Nick liked the challenge, and he liked that Turner made sure he was always on his guard. But he was never a person he planned on staying with, do you know what I mean?"

Harry chewed on his lip, thinking slowly. "He doesn't want someone who he can't put his guard down around."

"Exactly," Aimee urged. "He told me from the start that Turner was a dick, and he couldn't stand most of the things about him. Relationships like theirs are fun for awhile, but soon enough they're just exhausting and you end up hating each other."

"So why are they having a baby?" Harry asks, unable to keep the incredulous tone from his voice. "I didn't even know Nick wanted kids."

Aimee shrugs. "It's not that he ever didn't want kids. They've just never been a big issue. But I don’t know why they’d decide to have a baby.”

They all lapse into silence after that. Aimee continues to puff at her cigarette, and Ian and Harry just stare at the night around them.

It makes no sense. Why would Nick be with someone who he doesn't really like as a human being? Why would he want to raise a child with him? And what was Turner getting out of this? He very obviously didn't concern himself over the opinions of their friends; why announce it to them at all?

"I think I'm gonna head home," Harry announces quietly. "Do you two need a ride?"

"No, thanks though Harry." Ian says, waving him off with a appreciative smile.

"We're gonna go back in, in a minute." Aimee supplies for him, and she pats Harry with the hand still gripping his shoulder, and then releases him.

"Oh, alright." Harry nods. "Tell them I had to get going. Early morning." It's not untrue.

They wave at each other, and Harry crosses the street to find where he parked his car. He turns around, and Aimee and Ian are still watching him. He gets in his car, and turns the music up so high he can barely hear himself think, which is his intention. He drives home, gets changed, and tucks himself into bed, pointedly not thinking about if Nick's child would have his eyes.

//

Harry has promo the next day, and he's preoccupied during all of it. He could barely sleep the night before, tossing and turning until the small hours in the morning. When he finally peeled himself out of bed at his alarm, he faced a text from Nick that had been sent at 2 am.

_"Thanks for saying goodbye :("_

He ignores it, knowing full well that Nick would be able to tell. Nick will have to deal with it.

The boys all notice that something is up with Harry, but he just shakes his head and tells them not to worry about him. They’re going back on tour in a couple of days, little less than a week, and he quietly tells Louis that he’s a bit sad that they have to leave so soon after arriving home. He seems to buy it, because Harry’s an awful liar but he’s a master of telling half-truths with a completely straight face. They all mostly leave him alone after that, because they’re all a bit upset to be leaving again and it’s nothing new.

He thinks about Nick all day, going through a few interviews looking a lot more broody than anyone is used to. Lou tells him that he needs to cheer up; that he looks pale and sulky as she applies a healthy layer of bronzer to his cheeks.

When they take a break for lunch, Harry receives a second text from Nick. _“You want to come over tonight? No plans and Turner’s got a wedding in Londonderry.”_

Harry chews on his lip. Turner is an event planner, so it’s not unusual that he’s away for work. The time Turner spends away is generally the only time they get to spend alone together.

_“Yeah, alright. I’ll bring the crisps”_

//

Harry shows up at around 8 with a bag of crisps and a bottle of the expensive wine Nick loves but can’t afford to buy consistently. Nick lets him in, kissing him on both cheeks, and takes his coat and wine from him. It feels oddly formal, and the air is stiffer than it generally is when they hang out. Harry slides out of his shoes, then takes off his pants because he never wears pants at Nick’s and he’s determined to make this as not weird as possible. He toddles down to Nick's TV room, and throws himself down on the couch spectacularly.

Nick follows after him, grinning. He's got the bottle of wine and two glasses, and Harry briefly ponders what else big hands like Nick's could do.

"See you've made yourself at home," Nick sits down properly beside Harry's prone body, his back against Harry's stomach. "Thank you for this." He holds the bottle up, and then pours them both generous amounts.

"It's no problem," Harry smiles, and he starts drawing designs on Nick's back with the hand not holding his own head up as he lays on his side.

Part of the reason he thinks he's so gone for Nick are times like this. Whenever Turner is around, Nick doesn't let himself take a breath, he's always bustling around for him. But when he's gone, Nick is almost an entirely different person, one that says soft things and cuddles on sofas while drinking red wine. And Harry's wearing no pants, and Nick's leaning against his stomach, and Harry can pretend that they've already had sex, and now they're just cuddling on the couch.

Nick passes him the glass, smiling fondly down at him. He holds his glass up. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Harry clinks his glass against Nick's, then awkwardly takes a drink.

Nick sips at his own wine, watching Harry carefully. "I think... I think we should talk, probably."

Harry nods. "Yeah, we should." He sits up, adjusting so that he's sitting beside Nick with their thighs touching.

"I talked to Aimee today." Nick wipes a finger around the rim of his glass. "She says that I'm making a mistake."

Harry makes a non-committal noise, hoping it's not painfully obvious that he thinks yes, Nick is making a Big Mistake.

"She says you think so as well."

Harry curls his toes, and he takes a gulp of the wine. It tastes like wood, and he doesn't know why Nick likes it. "I... I don't think you've thought it through properly."

Nick sighs, then rises to his feet. Harry stares after him, concerned that he had said the wrong thing. "Nick, I--"

"No, you guys are right. You're right." Nick starts pacing the living room, still holding his glass in hand. "We just decided. We just suddenly decided one night, because all we do is fight lately and I told him I'm glad we don't have children because it'll make it easier when I leave him. How does that translate into, 'lets get pregnant'?" He gestures wildly with the hand holding the wine, a bit of it spilling over the side. He’s working himself up.

"I don't know, Nick." Harry reaches out to Nick as he traipses by. "Sit down. You need to calm down."

"How am I supposed to calm down?" Nick moans, no malice in his voice. "This is happening! It's all happening! We've already been to the doctors before we told you all and gotten the fertility treatment and all! I have pills the size of five pence I need to take every morning! Five pence! And Turner's been taking his and getting so emotional and weepy, which the doctor said would happen as his blooming womb develops. He's growing a uterus, Harry! For my child!"

"Nick Nick Nick," Harry stands, setting his glass down on the table and taking Nick's as well. He sidles up to the emoting man, and makes him freeze in his tracks by holding onto his shoulders. "You need to relax. Calm down."

Nick nods, staring with a panicked expression at Harry's mouth. "Yes. I need to-- Need to relax. Yes."

Harry smiles, and then leads Nick back to the couch and sits him down. He places his wineglass back in his hand, and brings it, and his hand up to his mouth to take a drink. "Just breathe, mate. I didn't know you both started the process already. Thought you had just decided."

Nick takes a longer sip than usual, draining half the glass in one bob of his Adam's apple. "No. Turner didn't want to tell anyone at all until he'd already conceived and was through the first trimester, or whatever. I barely convinced him otherwise."

Harry nods, reluctantly fascinated. Male pregnancy was a fairly common phenomenon lately, but Harry had never met anyone of the dads. "How does it work, then? Sorry if I'm being nosy, you don't have to answer if you don't want."

Nick leans back on the cushion, sighing heavily. "No, it's alright. It's sort of complicated. Basically, each dad needs to undergo separate treatments, and take different medicines. Since Turner's going to be the one carrying, I just need to take pills that make me super fertile. Like, sperm on steroids." He laughs, humourlessly. "And the man carrying has to take a whole bunch of pills, and needs to be monitored really closely in case something goes wrong. There's basically a tiny group of cells in males that people always thought were useless, or like, what used to be our tails back in the day. But it's sort of like, the very distant remnants of us that prove we might have all been hermaphrodites at some point? It's what is left of what could be a womb, and contains eggs for males, pretty much, but it can't be fertilized naturally because its so run down and you can't really deliver unless it's a c-section. So they have to take a whole bunch of medication to awaken it. And when it's all done, you have sex, and hope you get knocked up."

Harry blinks, trying to make sense of it all in his head. "Wow."

"Yeah, wow." Nick drains the rest of his wine, then leans forward and pours himself another.

"How long have you been trying?" Harry asks curiously. "How long does it take for the uterus and everything to develop?"

Nick's brows furrow. "We've been trying for about a month now. It's not supposed to be taking this long, honestly. Wombs can be ready within hours after taking the fertility treatment, or within weeks, apparently. And there's no cycles, like in females. The doctor says it might be taking so long because Turner gets the pills ground up and put in his food. Whatever, we'll keep trying. The pills don't only make you emotional, you get really horny too. Not really complaining about that part." He goes for a dirty smile, and Harry barks a laugh, more because Nick expects him to rather than because he finds it genuinely funny.

"Oh, well." Harry shakes his head, focusing in on the main issue. "Do you want to have a kid with him? Are you ready to be a father?"

Nick purses his lips, staring across the room at the black television screen. On the mantle the screen is perched above are several picture frames, filled with photos of Nick and Turner at various stages in their relationship. "Well, I know I'm ready to have a kid. And we'll have been together for 6 years in 2 months. We live together, and we're legal partners. It seems like the next thing to do."

Harry shakes his head. "That's not the question though, is it? Do you want to have a child with him?"

Nick sighs, and turns from the TV screen and over at Harry. He looks intently at him, face dark. "I... No."

"No." Harry repeats, shoving back at the relief he feels flooding him. "No, alright. You shouldn't do it, then."

"It's not that simple." Nick shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "If we don't do this, we're over."

Harry reaches over, and squeezes the man's knee. "Nick." He says, voice low. "Having a baby isn't going to a save a shit relationship. It just brings an innocent child into a shit situation. Your kid is gonna be able to tell that his dads hate each other."

"We don't hate each other!" Nick cries out defensively. "We don't."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Do you love each other?"

"Yes." Nick nods, but he looks unsure of his own words. "Yeah, we do. Love each other." Harry squeezes his knee supportively. "I don't know what I'd do without him. Don't even know how I'd start living without him. I'd have to move out. And we've signed things that say we're together. Legal things."

Harry waves him off. "You can stay with me, if it comes down to it. Hire a lawyer. Those contracts aren't binding, you're allowed out of them."

Nick's eyes look glassy, and Harry for the first time realizes just how scared Nick is of this. Of being alone. Harry would offer himself to him, but somehow he doesn't think that this is the time. "I—you think we should?"

Harry swallows. "It's up to you, isn't it? But if you don't want to stay with him, Nick, don't."

Nick stares at him for a minute more, than nods once. "Okay." He drinks his wine, then sets it down on the table. "Yes. Right." He stands up, and he fiddles with his hands for a moment, looking from Harry, back to his bedroom. "I'm gonna go to sleep. Knackered. The guest rooms made up, has your favourite pajama bottoms."

"Thanks, Nick." Harry smiles warmly up at him, both of them knowing full well that Harry doesn't sleep with clothes on. "I'll clean up."

"Would you?" Nick's looking closer and closer to tears with every second that passes. "Thank you so much, you're... Just thanks."

"No problem." Harry stands up, stretching. Part of his shirt pulls up, and he's certain his 'might as well' tattoo is peeking out. He steps over, and wraps Nick up in a hug. "Goodnight, Nick."

Nick seems to deflate in his arms. It takes him a moment of heavy breathing, but Nick eventually sighs out, "goodnight Harry," as he pulls his arms out of their embrace, and walks quietly to his bedroom.

//

When Harry wakes up in the morning, it's to complete silence in the flat. He expected it, really. Nick works early, and Turner's still away. Harry's thankful for the latter.

He gets up, and strips the bed of its sheets, folds them nicely, and places them at the foot of the bed. He runs down the hall, still completely naked except for his socked feet and takes a piss. He sings softly as he makes his way through the home, internally debating over whether or not he should take a shower. He helps himself to a bit of breakfast, eating a plate of scrambled eggs already made in the fridge that Harry's sure no one will miss. He distinctly remembers Nick whinging on about how much he hates scrambled eggs. It tastes a bit off, anyways. A bit grainy. It's probably why they'd decided not to eat it in the first place. He eventually decides on taking the shower because he smells like sour wine. He's never taken a shower at Nick's before, because Harry feels awkward showering in the same place that Turner showers, but seeing as the man apparently wasn't going to be around for much longer he didn't mind.

He slips into the shower, humming a song he couldn't remember the words to, having waited for it to get warm already. He's halfway through lathering Nick's shampoo for curls into his hair when he spots something on the counter that he hadn't noticed before that makes him choke on his own saliva. Through eyes stinging from the shampoo that streams down into them, Harry stares at a little bottle of what is unmistakably lube, stowed carelessly in their bathroom right beside their hand cream.

Harry's limbs feel tingly. What do they have lube in their bathroom for? If they're fucking in the shower there's no real point for it. It makes no logical sense to be in there, unless they often just spontaneously have sex in their bathroom. What, does Nick just hoist Turner against the sink and fuck him against the mirror? Is Nick into that? Harry could be very into that, if given the chance. Or does Nick sit on the toilet with the lid down, and get ridden right there? Or maybe on the floor, right on the bathmat. Would Nick want that—would Nick want Harry to maybe sink down on his cock, lubed up but still getting split open as Nick holds onto his hips and guides him, leaving finger shaped bruises? Nick could fill him up with his cum. Harry doesn't mind at all.

Harry blinks, snapping out of his daydreaming and realizing he's got a hand on his painfully hard cock. He laughs, sounding harsh and awkward in his throat. He's jacking off in Nick's shower. He may or may not be crossing a line.

He jerks himself off quickly, having pretty much gone past the point of no return while he was zoned out that he was closer to coming than not. He releases with a groan, trying not to be too loud even though no one is home and Nick isn't even halfway done his show. He watches his cum swirl down the drain, and then continues washing his hair feeling slightly guilty.

When he finishes, he dries himself off quickly and gets dressed even quicker. He flees from Nick and Turner's flat, locking the door with his spare key behind him. He sends Nick a quick smile emoji, thanking him for letting him stay the night. Nick doesn't reply, and he doesn't expect him to. Finchy gets worked up about Nick texting during the show.

//

Harry doesn't hear from Nick for three days. He supposes that that's a bad thing. He sends several texts, and calls once or twice, for an update at the very least. Harry's getting increasingly worked up over Nick not talking to him. During one of their final interviews before they go away on their next tour, an interviewer asks about Nick and it takes all of his willpower to reply with a shrug and not snap at the interviewer.  

Finally, the night before Harry's meant to go away, Nick shows up with no warning on his doorstep.

"Nick?" Harry asks incredulously when he opens the door to find the man. "What are you doing here?"

Nick sighs, and it seems to go on forever. He looks exhausted; heavy bags under his eyes, and his clothes, which look rattier than usual, are ill-fitted and cling loosely to his body.

"Can I come in?" Is all he says, and Harry automatically steps back to let him pass.

"What happened?" Harry demands as soon as the door is closed behind them and Nick is shuffling into his home. "You look rough."

"Thank you popstar, means a lot." Nick makes his way to Harry's liquor cabinet, pulling out several of Harry's most expensive bottle of tequila. "Have you got anything to do shots with?"

"Er, yes." Harry goes into his kitchen, face knitted in concern and confusion, but he gets a bit of salt and some limes he bought for a party Louis was going to have but cancelled last minute. He slices one quickly, throws it on a plate and return to Nick with the salt and lime.

Nick's not looking any better. He's lined up 10 of Harry's shot glasses at his bar and Harry's fairly certain this isn't going to end well.

As soon as Harry's set the plate down, Nick licks the back of his hand and holds it out for Harry to dump salt on. "We've got five each. Do them all."

"Nick," Harry protests weakly, "I've got a flight tomorrow."

"Turner and I are done," Nick says emotionlessly, as if that's a suitable objection.

It must be, because Harry licks his own hand and pours salt on them both. They each pick up a lime slice, than they go to opposite sides of the line of shots. Nick picks up one, and Harry follows suit.

"Bottoms up," Nick sighs, and licks the salt and downs the shot before Harry even knows to start.

Harry winces as the tequila goes down; he hates tequila unless he's feeling depressed, a sentiment that Nick shares and is the only reasons that Harry is doing this anyways. He watches to see if the older man really is going to do them all, and when he's slammed his first shot glass down, he quickly picks up the second and Harry grits his teeth and copies.

He feels less and less steady with each shot, and by the time he's finally reached the fifth and he can suck on the lime, he misses his mouth twice before finally sticking his tongue out to chase the slimy fruit. Nick's already done, and his eyes look watery.

Nick cheers, forehead creased with the taste probably burning his mouth still, but he's probably too drunk at this point to care. Not that Harry's any better.

"This is stupid," Harry slurs, hissing the s like a snake. He laughs for a second, tries and fails to remember why he thinks it's stupid, then bites the lime again.

"Harold." Nick says sternly, wagging a long finger at him. "You're not supposed to eat the lime."

"I like lime!” Harry protests, but puts the lime down anyway. He bares his teeth at the older man, sucking in loudly and making a loud slurping noise. "I love limes. I feel sick." He grabs onto Nick, pulling him with him as he makes his way to the bathroom.

"I love Turner." Nick says loudly when they enter the room, sinking onto his elbows on the counter.

Harry rolls his eye exasperatedly, and sinks down beside him. He's already forgotten about feeling sick. They both have their legs extended behind them, peering into the mirror at themselves. "Turner is a dick. None of us like him."

Nick tilts his head to look at him. "Really? None of you?"

"Nope." Harry replies, popping the p. "He's not nice. Not even to you."

"He's a good guy." Nick assures him, patting his arm. "That's why I love him."

Harry looks down at Nick's hand, touching his bare skin. "I love you."

Harry looks up and into the mirror, where Nick's already staring at him through it. He looks like he doesn't know how to reply. "I... Harry."

Harry groans, and he stands up. "No, don't. Don't say anything. I'm just putting that out there."

Nick raises his eyebrows, looking distantly amused. "What are you putting out there?"

Harry shrugs, and he turns around and hops up to sit on top of the white marble counter. There must have been water on the surface, because he feels his jeans get slightly wet, but he ignores it. "That I love you, and I think you're really fit and I think about you when I touch myself."

"You love me." Nick says, disbelievingly. "You're an infant."

Harry turns his chin up, and he huffs grumpily. "I am not. You think I'm fit too."

Nick's smiling, but there's something in the set of his jaw and the light in his eye that makes Harry's face heat up. "Oh? And how do you know that?"

Harry reaches out, hand unsteady in its drunkenness. He fingers the soft material of Nick's collared shirt for just a minute, before pulling back to his own body. "Just a hunch." He says, significantly quieter than before. He’s proud of himself; he’s usually a lot clumsier while intoxicated.

Suddenly, Nick's jumping at him and Harry has barely any time to react before all he can think is, "Nick's lips are touching mine." Harry's arms quickly sneak around Nick's neck, pulling their bodies flush against the other as best as they can while he's sitting on the counter.

Nick wastes no time while wasted, one hand rustling through Harry's hair, and the other moving further and further down his spine until it's hovering over the top of his boxers. He's stepped in between Harry's legs, who wraps them quickly around the man's waist just as Nick starts rolling his hips.

Harry pulls back from the kiss, gasping at the pressure on his cock through their jeans. "Nick," he breathes, and then he dives back into the kiss, opening his mouth and licking into Nick's mouth. Nick already tastes so good, so much like tasty sour limes, and like the boy Harry had been desperately pining after for months.

Nick rubs at Harry's hips with his hand, kissing with as much ferocity as Harry. He pulls at the bottom of Harry's shirt, and then slowly starts to lift it, and they break apart from their kiss again. Nick's looking down at Harry's chest as soon as he's tossed the shirt aside, and his eyes darken even more as he takes in the sight of Harry's body. Harry leans in, and bites Nick's lower lip. "What are you waiting for?" Harry says, voice shaking slightly. "You gonna fuck me, or what?"

Something in Nick's eyes change, and he blinks down at Harry's chest for a moment. "Turner--- he said that you--"

Harry groaned, not wanting to hear about Turner right now. "What did he say about me?"

"He said you were desperate for it. That you're desperate for my cock, and everyone knows."

Harry narrows his eyes, and he leans in again, reaching down to pull at the hem of Nick's shirt. "And?"

"Is it true?" Nick's paused, and he's clearly not going to continue until Harry's answered.

"Well, yeah." He laughs breathily. "I've wanted you to fuck me for months and months. Since I met you, really."

Harry's legs are still wrapped around Nick's waist, and he can feel the man's cock twitch in response to his words. He grins up at him. "Wanted to get your cock in me for so long. Want my arse filled with your cum."

"Jesus," Nick wheezes, and he reaches down and pulls off his own shirt. He attacks Harry's mouth, again, sucking at his lips until they're red and swollen. (Sober Harry laments this; he's going to have the most noticeable lip hickey to start off the tour with).

Harry touches Nick's collar again, pulling it this way and that. He gyrates his hips, the denim making a loud scratching noise as he grinds against the DJ.

"Get this off," he shakes at Nick's shirt, and pushes him away for a moment.

Nick steps back at Harry's push, and he follows the instructions easily. His hands drop to his jean buttons, and he nods at Harry. "Yours too. Get in the shower."

Harry grins. He slides off the counter, but gets distracted from Nick stripping before him as his pants require a great deal of concentration to get on and off, even when completely sober.

When the black denim is finally around his ankles, and he's peeling out of both them and his socks, Nick's already got the shower running, steam running up the top of it.

Harry barely gets a chance to see Nick's body before the man jumps in, smiling sweetly around the shower curtain. Harry stumbles over his own feet in his haste to follow. "This isn't a good idea. We're drunk and showers are slippery."

"Shut up, and get in."

Harry shrugs, entirely convinced. He hops in, and Nick's all over him in seconds.

Harry hasn't had much sex in the shower, and he's sad about it. Fucking in the shower feels incredible; feels incredible to feel their bodies slide against each other.

Nick's hips feel divine, and his cock pressing against his ass even better as he gets bent over, face against the cold wall tiles, fingers spread beside him. Nick waits a moment, to allow them both to become completely wet, then sinks down onto his knees so his face is level to Harry’s bum. He bites at his left cheek, slapping at the other at the same time, and Harry squeals.

With a barely audible chuckle, Nick spreads Harry’s cheeks open, breathing hotly on his hole. Nick hesitates a moment, but then moves in closer, craning his neck up so he can lick a long stripe from the very bottom of Harry’s balls, up to his hole. Harry’s knees tremble, and he clenches his hands into fists against the wall. “Jesus, Nick. Fuck.”

Nick mouths at Harry’s puckered entrance, alternating between using tongue and pressing kisses to it. It reminds Harry of French kissing, and he almost wants to cry it feels so good. Nick pulls back momentarily, moves a wet hand closer, and slowly presses a finger inside. He’s drunk, but he still takes care that his movements are slow, and that Harry isn’t hurting. Harry clenches tightly on Nick’s single finger, a silent ‘more please’. Nick relents, pulling out a second, only to push a second finger in. Harry chokes out a moan as Nick speeds up a bit, using his fingers to scissor him open, to get him ready for his cock.

By the time Harry’s got three fingers inside of him, he’s just about as ready as he’ll ever be. The alcohol makes both of their cocks a bit more useless than usual, but by this point, they’re stiff and throbbing.

When Nick lines up, and presses in, it's so slick and it's so easy that Harry barely feels the sting; just euphoric fullness. Nick's very careful, feet braced and hands tight around Harry so he doesn't fall. Harry appreciates it; he's sure that his knees would have given out by now and he would have brained himself off of the faucet. He's so loud, and his moans echo around the bathroom as Nick increases his tempo and fucks into him harder.

Harry's quick to come after Nick's found his prostate, tugging on his dick only a couple of times before he's coming against the wall. He squeezes tightly, whimpering, pleading, "please cum in my ass, come on Nick."

Nick does, hips freezing when he's fully sheathed, and he empties himself inside the younger man. He comes with a stuttered shout, and a long moan after it, and Harry savors the sound as he's not sure when, if ever he'll hear it again. He's not sure this will ever happen again, not sure if he'll ever feel Nick's come inside of him, have his body bruised by him.

Nick sags backwards, breathing heavy from exertion. Harry clenches his hole again, wiggling his bum a bit at the feeling of come leaking from him. He reaches forward, and turns the tap off. When he turns, he sees Nick, sopping wet and gorgeous. He leans in as he steps out of the shower, and plants a kiss on Nick's lips. "Come to bed with me." Harry gestures for him to follow him, and Nick holds up a hand.

"In a minute," Nick slurs, and he looks shifty. "Need to... I need a minute."

"Kay." Harry smiles, unconcerned by his strange behaviour. He grabs the towel he has hanging in his bathroom, and pats himself dry before padding contently to his bedroom.

His room seems fuzzy, it's dark but he's in such a good mood that the dark feels comforting, like it's trying to peek around corners and kiss him goodnight. As he tucks himself into bed, he feels happy.

He falls asleep almost instantly, and doesn't hear Nick redress himself, and sneak out of the flat and head home.

//

Harry wakes up alone. His phone is buzzing incessantly, alarms and people from his team telling him he's got to get up.

In the bright light of morning, Harry's head throbs and he feels like vomiting. There's no messages from Nick.

He peels himself out of bed gets himself dressed, and grabs his already packed bags and brings them to his front door.

He doesn't bother brushing his teeth. He doesn't want to go back into the bathroom. He waits by the door, waiting for the car to come and collect him for the airport.

He fiddles on his phone, and just as he hears the car pull up, he presses send on a message to Nick. "Louis was right, perfect pair of twats you were." He shuts his phone off, stows it away in his pocket, and then gets up to leave for America.

 

Part 2 // pregnant

_for you, i’d bleed myself dry_

**// 4 weeks //**

America is hot, and Harry's bloody miserable.

Some places are an alright level of hot. When they're in Miami, it's nice. It's hot, but you expect it to be so you're not surprised when you wake up and you're already sweating. Places like Miami have air conditioner everywhere-- literally everywhere. They get a yacht, and it's cold enough inside the cabin that they get goose bumps and Harry's nipples immediately harden. But it's Miami, and it's hot in a way that is just pure heat, and they can just lie out in the sun and be perfectly content.

The farther North they go, the uncomfortable it is. It's not only hot, but it's also muggy and the air feels wet. Moisture clings to their skin, and it's less heat and more you have to peel yourself out of bed in the morning.

They're English, so they're used to being wet, but they're not used to being hot and wet.

Plus, Harry is just grumpy. He's short with his band mates, and he feels less like chatting to anyone. He hasn't spoken to Nick in nearly a month by the time they get to DC, and Harry's feeling significantly used.

Louis asks why he's acting like such a dick, and Harry tells him to fuck off. He's angry and hurt and he doesn't want to talk to anyone but his mom.

One night, when the moisture sneaks into his hotel room despite the AC and dehumidifier, he calls Anne absolutely seething. His anger quickly shifts into sadness, and he goes from shouting about the weather to sobbing into the mouthpiece about how he'll never love again.

Niall must hear him, because he lets himself into Harry's room with a bucket of ice cream that he has somehow gotten a hold of (or maybe American hotels had complimentary Chapmans in their rooms, Harry doesn't fucking know nor care) and two spoons.

Harry says goodbye to his mom, who is fussing and cooing at him from across an ocean, and he snatches the carton and eats it weepily right in front of Niall. He keeps moaning around spoonful’s of cookie dough about how Niall should never trust anyone, so he's not really surprised when Niall calls for backup. Soon, Louis and Liam (Zayn is asleep) are crowded around him on his bed, Louis pulling Harry head onto his chest, stroking his mop of curls and letting Harry ruin his shirt with tears, saliva, and dairy. Liam's rubbing Harry's feet gently, because the humidity makes him ache all over. He croons sadly to them all that his palms are itchy and that he wants to go home.

Louis asks Harry again what's wrong. Harry tells them about Nick, how he and Turner had broken up and Harry had sex with him in his shower the night before they left. They all exchange looks over his head, but they don't say anything except that Nick doesn't deserve Harry.

Harry sighs, and he passes the ice cream to Niall. He's full and he just wants sometime to rub his tummy so he can fall asleep. He asks Louis to, and the man agrees with only minimal complaining.

It's all very rock and roll.

//

Harry wakes up the next morning in the middle of a One Direction cuddle puddle, a mass of sweaty limbs and fluffy hair. Harry feels very briefly pleased at his situation in the very middle, but the feeling very quickly passes as his stomach churns.

He sits up, and he elbows his way out from under everyone and nearly falls out of bed in his rush to get to the bathroom. He doesn't even have time to turn the light on, let alone close the door before he's vomiting profusely.

Liam shows up behind him, wiping at his eyes drowsily. "You alright, Haz?"

Harry doesn't have the ability to reply, but if he could he'd scream, "what does it look like?"

He's partially glad he can't snap at Liam, because he kneels down behind him and strokes soothing patterns down his back. Liam is good at taking care of people when they're sick.

"We'll get you to a doctor," Liam fusses, standing up to run a facecloth under the tap. He dabs at Harry’s temples with it, not seeming to mind that he had to dodge stray pieces of puke. They’d spent the majority of the past approaching four years together; the bodily functions of each other didn’t affect them at all anymore. If Harry wasn’t so polite, he’d tell the fangirls that whenever they went on about their b/romances. The lads are handsome and all, but it was hard to be sexually attracted to people he’d seen simultaneously masturbating and crying (not naming names, but Niall) and other really cool things like that.

When Harry’s finally expelled everything in his stomach including his bile, he sits back down on his rump and collects his breath. “I bet it was that ice cream.” He murmurs, wiping at his eyes where tears have collected. “I heard that everyone is actually lactose intolerant.”

Liam pauses, lips pursed. He stops wiping at Harry with the damp washcloth. “What, really? Are we really?”

Harry shrugs. He wasn’t sure if it was true, or if he was just making it up.

“Well, never mind that.” Liam pushed Harry’s curls out from where they’d drooped in front of his eyes. “We’ll get you checked out. Maybe you’ve got a bug. Or food poisoning.”

“Or I’m lactose intolerant.” Harry repeats, mostly to just be insolent.

Liam’s a good sport. “Or you’re lactose intolerant.” He tosses the cloth carelessly into the sink, and then snaps up to his feet. “C’mon, lets go. Flush the toilet, all I can smell is your sick.”

Harry grumbles about how he should be treated more delicately, but he does as he’s told. He brushes his teeth furiously after Liam’s left, just as Louis pops in to take a piss. Louis argues with Harry for 10 minutes, telling him that he’s not supposed to brush his teeth right after he pukes because he’ll brush off the enamel, or something, but Harry flat out refuses to let his mouth continue to taste so awful. When Louis leans over him to wash his hands, Harry nuzzles at his ear with his head, like an over-affectionate cat. “Thank you, though. For last night.”

Louis grins at him. “It’s no problem, babes. C’mon, we’ve got things to do.”

//

The next few days follow the same terrible routine.

Since they’re so busy and they’re constantly moving from place to place, it’s impossible for Harry to pop into a clinic to see a doctor. American health care is expensive and intrusive, and it’s not at all plausible to believe that a physician could check him out without being spotted by some nosy photographer or fan and be assumed dead or dying.

It’s annoying, because he’s fallen into this state of near constant nausea. He’s awoken every morning by it, at least two hours before when he needs to wake up, and it sometimes follows him throughout the entire day. He’s usually able to keep himself from actually throwing up after a few days, and it more often than not dissipates by the time afternoon comes around.

Because he’s waking up so early from nausea, he’s more tired and drowsy throughout the day. By the time he’s up on stage and ready to perform, he’s often dead sleepy, to the extent that he’s slightly dizzy. He loses his breath easily, and he needs to pop off stage at least twice a show to use the bathroom. He even pukes one night during Rock Me in Pittsburg, and he’s embarrassed and sad. He’s tired and achey, and his head hurts twice as easy from loud noises.

The worst part is that he’s cranky. Constantly, constantly cranky. Michael offers him the rest of his sandwich one night, and Harry yells at him for being so pushy and demanding. He almost starts crying immediately after, so he’s pretty sure that Michael forgives him, but it just makes Harry feel even shittier to know that all of his friends are annoyed with him.

Finally, it must be too much for everyone, because they hire a doctor that comes round their tourbus before Harry’s even woken up with stomach pain. Harry’s half asleep and confused, and he can barely follow the doctor’s line of questions as he gets poked and prodded at 6 in the morning.

The doctor hm’s a lot; taking Harry’s temperature in his mouth and his ear and his armpit, and then presses a stick on Harry’s tongue that nearly makes him vomit right there.

Eventually, the doctor puts his equipment away, and looks at Harry curiously, stroking his chin with one hand. They’ve been surrounded by a crowd of people on the bus, everyone waiting to see what the fuck is wrong with Harry.

The doctor has the decency to ask his final few questions quietly, so that most of the people don’t hear.

 “And you haven’t taken any fertility treatments lately, correct?”

Harry furrows his brow, even more confused. “What? No.”

The doctor nods. “From what I’ve heard and what I see, you’re displaying a lot of the early symptoms of pregnancy. But if you haven’t taken any treatment, you don’t need to worry about that.” He pats Harry’s shoulder assuringly. “I think you’ve just got a common infection, a stomach bug. Take Tylenol for the achiness, but beyond that there’s not many options. You just have to wait it out.”

Everyone on the One Direction team groans collectively.

The thing is, regular and healthy Harry is an absolute delight. He’s lovely, and charming, and he likes to do nice things for people without them asking. He’s always there to lend a hand, or tell a weird joke that everyone but Tom and Lou only half understand. He’s by far the most reasonable member of One Direction normally; never making requests that are more trouble than it’s worth. They don’t really notice when Harry’s feeling perfectly alright, but now that he’s sick, everyone is realizing just how much they took him for granted. Happy Harry, in extension, makes everyone around him happy.

But Harry sick? For an indeterminate amount of time? They just hope the days pass faster than they are now.

**// 7 weeks //**

It’s a couple of weeks after Harry’s seen the doctor that a new batch of symptoms present themselves, and Harry is… concerned.

At first, he mostly only notices that he’s put on a bit of weight. His face looks a bit less sharp; more rounded around the bones, but otherwise unnoticeable. But not only that, but he’s starting to develop a bit of a pouch under his bellybutton. It’s not altogether surprising, as Harry hadn’t done much physical exercise since he first started feeling ill. Besides performing on stage, he didn’t exert himself much.

It wouldn’t be so alarming if... his nipples hadn’t started to hurt. His entire breast area feels tender, and he actually howls one night when Liam jokingly twists his nipple on stage.

And Harry doesn’t really know what to think about all of it. It’s not like his pecs are getting bigger. But the doctor’s words keep swirling around his brain, and he can’t help but think that _these are exactly the symptoms of pregnancy._ But how could he possibly be pregnant?

He gets through the last few days of the tour in a blur of befuddlement and confusion. How could this have happened? Could it have happened? It’s not something that can just _happen_ to males. Not by accident.

He’s not—he couldn’t be. The last person he had had sex with was—Nick.

Nick had been taking his fertility treatment at the time they had had sex, but that didn’t really matter because Harry had no bloody uterus, had no womb and no eggs to fertilize. It was quite literally impossible for them to have conceived, because no amount of super sperm could make his body equipped to have a baby. He would have needed to take pills himself, and he would have definitely remembered taking those.

It must be an infection. Maybe he had picked up a disease somewhere along the way. Some American sickness that he got because he picked up that American penny on the sidewalk that one time four years ago. When he got back to the UK after this, he’d go and see his proper doctor and get a medical exam by someone who didn’t give him a seedy pat down in his tour bed. They would find what was wrong with him, and there would be a perfectly rational explanation as to why he was suddenly constantly _craving_ grilled chicken breast.

Still. The thought remains.

**// 8 weeks //**

They’re all in the car, taking them to the airport and passing around the customary sleeping pills before they board. Since becoming frequent fliers, they had all discovered the trick to sleeping on the plane is taking the sleeping pills before you’ve even arrived at the airport.

Niall takes his like a champion, throwing his head back and patting his neck as they go down. He offers the bottle to Harry, fully expecting Harry to take it.

“Er, no thanks.” Harry says awkwardly.

The rest of the car looks at him incredulously. All of them know that Harry barely sleeps on planes, unless he’s drugged up to the max.

“Well what are you going to do during the flight, then?” Liam asks, looking genuinely baffled.

Harry just shrugs. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to take the pills, but even though he’s all but eliminated the possibility of him being pregnant, he’s still lately gotten the feeling that he needs to protect his body. He wonders if all pregnant people feel that way. He doesn’t even know if pregnant people aren’t supposed to take sleeping pills or what.

The rest of them give up quickly, not fully caring about what Harry did at this point. He could feel the collective sense of relief in the air; that they no longer needed by contract to put up with his grumpiness for another couple of months. They had a couple of press things to do, a handful of interviews, but it was nothing compared to the near constant contact they have now. All of them are glad to be rid of each other.

They trudge through security and with no hesitation head to their terminal to board as soon as possible. The people who had taken pills are starting to get drowsy, but Harry still feels alert and wide-awake.

When they finally get settled in for a long flight, the boys have just dropped off to sleep and Harry feels self-righteously angry, or like he made a stupid decision. He doesn’t even know if he’s bloody pregnant, and he had passed up the chance on a good couple of hours sleep (which he was so sorely lacking as of late). Now he’s doomed for the next (up to) eight hours to watching dumb movies, very uneasy napping, and using up all his phone’s battery playing Angry Birds.

He receives one last message before he shuts his phone off when the flight is about to start. It’s from Nick. _Hey popstar, heard your lot is coming back today, maybe we could meet up? I think we should have a chat._

Harry heaves a sigh. Well, now he definitely wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep.

//

They land at Heathrow a couple hours of internally debating himself to death, and Harry is possibly x10 grumpier than he has ever been in his entire life. He's feeling ill again, had been feeling ill for at least half of the trip. He had popped back to the bathroom a handful of times, clutching his phone with him with Nick's accusatory text message blaring at him. He curses whatever is out there, listening to him. He'd all but eliminated the possibility of him being with child a thousand times as they flew over the Atlantic, but with his luck, of course he was. Why would he think otherwise? Louis notices his foul mood, but doesn’t notice enough to leave him the fuck alone and he spends the majority of the time trying to make conversation with him. And fuck Louis for trying to talk to him when he knows he’s in a bad mood, that’s so like the twat.

He gets the driver to drop him off at Nick’s flat, and the rest of the boys all jeer and tell him that he’s making a mistake. Harry gives them the finger, and tells them they need to get the fuck off his back. He shocks them into actual silence, and he’s able to climb over Zayn’s legs and leave the car without them protesting any further.

Harry has a key to Nick’s flat, and he lets himself in. He doesn’t really know what to expect; doesn’t know if Nick and Turner would have gotten back together or if they’re still broken up, and again, he doesn’t really care.

The front hall looks much the same, except that there is a couple of paintings and little statues and knick knacks missing from where Harry distinctly remembers them being. There was a little iron toad on the table beside the door, Harry was sure. He always threw his keys on top of it, quietly asking it if it would please hold them, thank you very much. Harry hoped that it belonged to Turner and he had taken it when he moved out. Or, alternatively, it belonged to Nick and _he_ had taken it when he left. If the latter was true, this visit was going to get really, really unpleasant fast.

Interrupting that train of thought, Nick rounds the corner. He looks shocked; he’s half dressed as if he’s going out, half still in pajamas.

“Harry?” Nick sounds just as surprised as he looks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You wanted to talk, so here I am.” He throws his arms up, presenting himself. He knows he sounds hostile, but he’s still angry enough with Nick that he doesn’t care. Nick hadn’t spoken to him for the entirety of his time on tour. He had snuck out in the morning after they’d had sex (or maybe he hadn’t even come to bed. Maybe he just came and went), and he hadn’t even attempted to stay in contact with him. Harry hadn’t either, but Harry had an actual reason to ignore him.

“I thought we’d—I thought we could go out and get a drink or something, but okay. This is good too.” Nick fiddles with the lapel of the jacket he’s got on over a black t-shirt that Harry is vaguely sure belongs to him. He turns, and gestures for Harry to follow him into the living room, and sits them down on the couch. “Okay. I think before I say anything, I should probably apologize for—“

“Wait.” Harry interrupts. “I’ve got something important to tell you.”

Nick bites his lip, staring unhappily at Harry. “I just want to apologize first.”

Harry smirks, and shakes his head. “I appreciate it, mate, but this takes precedence.”

Nick sniffs, and it’s barely there but Harry can see the annoyance flash through Nick’s eyes. “Alright, then.” He sits back, and waves at Harry to speak. “Go.”

Harry steels himself, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He’s suddenly nervous as hell. He doesn’t even know for certain. He doesn’t know if he is or not. But a part of him is sure that he wants to tell someone, and he’s sure it’s Nick he wants to tell.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Nick takes a moment. Clearly, at first, he thinks that he maybe misheard Harry. Thinks that perhaps, Harry’s joking? Maybe Harry’s just telling a dumb, and tasteless joke. “Sorry?”

“I’m, er. I’m pregnant. I mean, I think I am. I haven’t been to a proper doctor, but all signs point to it.”

Nick’s gone pale, and he’s tapping his foot on the ground nervously. “Harry, is this a joke? This is a real shit joke.”

Harry shakes his head. Even through his anger at Nick, he knows that he’d never do something as shitty as this as a joke. When Turner had gone away, so did Nick’s chances of becoming a father (presumably). To dangle it in front of the man would be a pathetic thing to do.

He doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he reaches out and takes Nick’s hand in one, and with the other he lifts up the bottom of his shirt. Nick’s hand is cold as he presses it to his belly, to his very small, but definitely noticeable bump on his abdomen.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Harry says truthfully, voice wobbling a bit. He's still pissed, but his newfound acceptance of his situation reminds him that this is bigger than his hurt feelings and Nick's ability to be a shit. “But I know that if it happened, if I am definitely pregnant, it’s yours.”

Nick’s eyes are bulging out of his head, forehead veins popping. He glances from his hand on Harry’s stomach, up to his face, and then back again. “I… What… How?”

Harry shrugs, Nick’s apparent mental breakdown really calming him down and giving him an extra boost of courage. “I dunno,” he touches Nick’s chin to make him look up at him. Nick looks wrecked. “But… congratulations daddy.”

//

As soon as Nick recovers from the initial shock, he swoops into action. Nick can’t sit still for any length of time on a regular day, but this is different. He’s moving, but instead of his usual smooth movement, rather impressive (to Harry at least) for someone with such long arms and legs, he seems to be propelling himself from location to location, throwing himself into the movement and slamming down when he gets there.

He returns to the living room with a large, taped box. On the side of it in Nick’s messiest scrawl says “TURNER”. Harry frowns at Nick, hoping his dismay at having a reminder of Nick’s ex-partner is clear.

The older man ignores him, and takes a knife he had also fetched at some point and breaks the tape shutting it.

Inside, is the motherlode of parenting supplies. There are tiny bottles and spare nipples flying everywhere; thermometers and swaddling cloths and, the most heartbreaking of all, little baby booties.

Also—home pregnancy tests. Which, Harry is exceedingly grateful for. He can’t imagine the type of headline there would be tomorrow if he was papped buying a pregnancy test.

They spend several minutes, puzzling over the instructions on the stick. Harry’s sure that he’s meant to pee on it, but he doesn’t see how he’s supposed to pee on it without getting his hand covered in wee. Nick suggests peeing in the toilet, and then just dipping it in, but Harry points out that the water would dilute it, and it’d probably less accurate. They squabble briefly over the definition of ‘dilute’ (an argument that Harry wins because he actually knows what dilute means), and then Nick kicks Harry into the bathroom to go pee on his wee stick.

It’s weird being in Nick’s flat again, after spending the past few weeks pretending like Nick didn’t exist. There are things in there noticeably missing as well; it’s as if Turner’s furniture and decorations made up the majority of the flat, and Nick just hadn’t bothered replacing the giant, Turner shaped hole in his life. That set off alarm bells in Harry’s head. He knew, objectively, that Nick was likely going to be sore about Turner for awhile yet. They’d been together for so long, and to have him suddenly _gone_ must be at the very least, disconcerting. But Harry’s not sure how much that would have to change if it did turn out that he was carrying Nick’s miracle child. He refused to do this alone, but it didn’t necessarily have to include Nick. He had his family. He had his boys. He and the child (possibly) growing inside of him were set.

Harry gritted his teeth and positioned himself in front of the toilet. With the pregnancy stick in one hand, his cock carefully aimed in the other, Harry attempted to stream his wee onto the end of the stick, away from his hands, and over the toilet.

For the most part, he succeeds. If he gets a bit of pee on the wall that he immediately cleans up with paper towel, he’ll never actually admit to it. He sets the test down carefully, making sure it doesn’t drip on Nick’s nice counter, and finishes up. When he’s washed his hands, he opens the door and hollers for Nick to come in. He jumps up on the counter, and waits as the man lets himself into the bathroom.

Nick is carrying two cups of tea in his hands, and he sets them down on the other side of the sink from where Harry is. “I brewed us a cuppa.” He says, even though Harry can clearly see. “Just how you like it.”

“Thank you, Nick.” Harry sighs, but instead of reaching for the tea, he reaches for Nick. Something has softened inside of himself, be it Nick's obvious nervousness, or just his relief to be the recipient of good tea. He puts aside his anger and pride for a moment for a conversation that needed to happen. “Come here.”

Nick moves over to him, stepping in between his knees in a non-sexual way. Harry places his hands on Nick’s shoulders so they’re just looking at each other. It feels very similar to the position they’d been in just 2 months earlier.

“Nick.” Harry beings, hoping he sounds serious. “This could change the rest of our lives.”

Nick nods. “Yeah, it could.”

“If it’s positive, I want you to know that you… you don’t need to like. Be there all the time. It’d be pretty complicated. I don’t expect you to—I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Nick is shaking his head before Harry’s even finished. “Harry.” He rolls his eyes, “if there is a baby in you, and if said baby belongs to me, I’m not going to run out on you. Like you said, it’ll be complicated, and I’m not going to abandon you. I was fully prepared to have a child with Turner. What makes you think that a baby with you would be any different?”

“I thought…” Harry pauses, eyes flickering across Nick’s face. “I thought you were just going to do it to keep Turner.”

“No.” Nick’s hands have crept onto Harry’s thighs, and he strokes a finger down each one. “I genuinely wanted to be a dad. I still do. I wouldn’t go through all of that if I didn’t actually want to come out of it with a baby.”

“Oh.” Harry feels stupid, and he’s angry at himself for it, but he’s smiling. “Okay.”

“And a baby with you?” Nick’s hands are very warm on him. “I don’t know how it happened. But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have a baby with. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, Harry. And I’m so sorry that I was such a dickhead before. I knew I was, but I still did it. But the only thing I felt like shit about doing, was leaving. I just—I couldn’t be around you when I was meant to be mourning over breaking up with Turner. Couldn’t bring myself to get you involved with such a mess when my heart was so bruised. But it had been over for awhile. Just neither of us knew it, and I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t feeling bad about it.”

Harry’s smile drops, the last bit of resentment dropping with it, but only so he can remove the distance between them and press onto Nick’s lips. He’s sure that he’s still angry with Nick, and he definitely should not be kissing him, but Nick’s there and he said he’d be there, so Harry’s happy and he forgives him.

When they pull apart, Nick’s grinning. “You’re a loon, Harry Styles. Leave it to you to get knocked up, despite the fact that it is biologically impossible.”

Harry shrugs, because it is a bit ridiculous and he still doesn’t understand. “If I got knocked up, you mean.”

As if they’ve both been suddenly reminded of the reason that they’re making out in the toilets, they both look down to where the pregnancy test is balanced on the side of the counter. They both, simultaneously, release a tiny, baby gasp.

**+**

//

Nick makes a call.

Harry’s overwhelmingly grateful that Nick had been so ready to have a baby with Turner that he knew what to do. If Harry had been alone, he would have fumbled around his flat, too terrified to even call a doctor, or his friends, or anyone.

He’s still in shock, so it’s a good thing that Nick doesn’t seem to be. He’s got a determined look on his face, one that makes Harry think that maybe, maybe this isn’t going to be too bad. A part of Harry had known that he was probably with child ever since the doctor had suggested it. Like Nick said, leave it to him to grow himself a womb. But now that it was confirmed for him, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt like his center of gravity had shifted, somehow, and now he was balanced for the baby. He breathed for the baby. He moved for the baby. Each of his bodily and mental functions were being readjusted, and he was now just utterly focused on the life growing inside of him. He didn’t know—didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or unconsciously.

Nick calls the obstetrician that specialized in male pregnancy that he and Turner had gotten their reproductive treatments from. He talks on the phone in a hushed voice, one that Harry can’t really hear, but he can still read his lips.

Nick tells the OB that he needs an appointment, and it’s somewhat urgent. Nick’s very persuasive when he wants to be, because they get an appointment for later in the day, just after closing. Nick asks for total privacy, and says that it’s a rather delicate matter, and that money is no longer an issue. He glances at Harry when he says this, and Harry nods him on.

After Nick’s hung up, they get their things together and go out for dinner. They’ve got an hour and a half until their appointment, and Harry really craving chicken. They go out for sandwiches, and Harry gets more of a burger; with a chicken patty and slathered in mayonnaise. Nick just gets roast beef slices on Italian, and they share a coke. Harry’s stomach is turning with nervousness, but he can’t stop ravenously eating even though he knows that it’ll probably just be puked right back up within a couple of hours.

There’s a few people who recognize him at the restaurant, but he’s quiet and grumpy enough that they disperse quickly enough after he poses for a photo. As soon as Harry starts seeing a sudden influx of young girls, he calls for the check. They’re able to walk out before they have the chance to get up from their tables after they’ve been seated.

London is big, and Harry is never really worried about being harassed when he’s on the move. It’s when he starts lingering in one public area that he has to be careful. And Harry’s got a big, baggy t-shirt with a button up hanging open on top, so no one can really tell that he’s got a bit of a belly now in pictures, unless they look _really_ close.

They arrive at the OB’s office just as the sun is going down. The front door says that it’s closed and that business hours are over, but there’s a woman waiting just inside to let them in. She locks it right after they’ve come in.

It’s very nice inside. It looks like a very clean, very sterile, and very expensive office. The woman leading them inside is old enough to not really be aware of who it is she’s bringing in to see the OB. She just chats about the lovely weather they’ve had for the past couple of days, and at one point she compliments Harry’s tattoos that are peeking out of his shirt.

She leaves them in the sitting room, because even though the office is being opened late for them, they still need to wait. Harry sits as close to Nick as he can in the fluffy seats, and asks him quietly about the OB.

Nick tells him that her name is Dr Matthers, and she’s the leading expert and physician in male pregnancy. Apparently, it had been her and her team that had first perfected the treatment that allowed the uterus to ripen. Without her, it wouldn’t have been possible. Other than that, Dr Matthers had written several books based on families with same-sex parents, and has been known to guest lecture at centres around the globe. All in all, she sounds really rather impressive and Harry was excited to meet her.

Finally, after a few minutes of nervously waiting in the only half-lit waiting room, Dr Matthers comes to collect them. She’s a lot older and more professional-looking than even he was expecting; pale blonde hair tied back tight in a bun, perfectly pressed clothing with a fancy pantsuit (no scrubs), and a severe smile. But there’s something about her that makes him instantly feel at ease. She enters the room, and all Harry can think is “ _thank god she’ll know what to do.”_

She shakes their hands briefly, and introduces herself before leading them both to her office. It’s a large room, half devoted to a tidy desk and numerous fancy degrees and newspaper cutouts proudly displayed on the wall. On the other side, separated by a glass wall and door, is where she must see her patients. It’s a large, and predominantly white area with little to no decoration. It’s the inside of every doctor’s office that Harry’s ever seen. She directs Harry to this side of the room, pointing for him to take a seat on the bench covered in crinkly paper.

"Nick, this is unusual." Dr Matthers says, sitting back on the side of her desk.

"What do you mean?" Nick’s sitting on the bench beside Harry, hand on his thigh supportively.

"Well, I don’t mean to pry," she smiles tightly, a clipboard held in her hand, “but what happened to Mr Darling? Mr Styles hasn’t been pre-approved. We can get him checked out, but I somehow doubt that’s what you requested that I stay late for."

Nick reacts defensively, turning his chin up while at the same time shrinking away. “Turner and I are no longer an item. And no, we think Harry’s already… that he’s pregnant."

"Sorry to hear. But that doesn’t explain how Harry has been involved. You didn’t pass Mr Darling’s medication to Harry, did you? That’s illegal.”

"No, no, no." Harry interrupts, feeling slightly embarrassed. He feels his cheeks colour. “We don’t really know what happened, to be honest."

"Yeah," Nick continues. “That’s another reason we came in to see you right away. It’s been a bit of a delicate situation."

"How so?" Dr Matthers adjusts her spectacles, but she only looks politely interested.

"Harry didn’t take any treatment," Nick looks uncertainly at him, as if needing reassurance that he hadn’t.

"Well, that’s impossible." Dr Matthers looks between the two men, as if not sure that they’re telling the truth or not. “No amount of fertility medication for the one siring will fertilize a womb that isn’t there. There is simply no way that he could have become pregnant without taking the treatment himself." She pauses, eyes flickering to Harry. “Have you had an appointment yet? To confirm that you are indeed pregnant? Urine tests generally give false positives. They’re not effective in males."

Harry shakes his head, and Dr Matthers smiles at him. “Alright then, Mr Styles. Let’s get you set up."

First, he’s put on a scale and weighed. Harry isn’t very up to date on his weight, but he’s fairly certain that he’s a bit heavier than he was last time he checked. The first part is just like a regular physical exam; she checks his blood pressure, heart, and lungs. Harry jumps when she starts pawing at his rather sensitive chest. His nipples are still tender to the touch, and the entire area appears swollen when she checks under his shirt. Harry goes to take the shirt completely off, but she shakes her head and tells him it’s not necessary.

After that, he’s told to lay back on the bench. Nick’s gotten up and moved out of the way somewhere around the blood pressure test, and he’s just hovering in the background. Beside that is a large machine with a screen that takes up half the wall. Harry keeps glancing at it curiously. He’s seen movies about people getting ultra sounds. This doesn’t look like those ones did at all.

Dr Matthers seems to notice his looks. “It’s an ultrasound, specially crafted for the male carrier in mind. Male pregnancy is always quite a bit trickier than female. Did Nick explain it to you?"

"I tried." Nick laughs, sounding nervous.

Dr Matthers smiles reassuringly at them. Now that she’s done interrogating him, she seems much more at ease. “Okay, I won’t get too in detail then. Simply, a male pregnancy cannot occur within a male who isn’t capable of carrying. And in order to carry, a special gland must be triggered, which is what the medication is designed to do. The gland is generally dormant, as is what it connects to. But once is has been triggered, the body works hard to build what is necessary to carry. Every body has the ability to reproduce. You just need to help it along."

Harry nods. “So, this isn’t even possible unless I’ve taken the medication?"

She shakes her head. “There are no reported cases of a male being born with the gland already functioning. Unless you are a medical anomaly, it’s not possible."

Harry purses his lips, and puts his head back on the pillow. “Alright, well. Let’s see if we’re wasting our time after all."

Dr Matthers prepares the machine meticulously, pressing a multitude of buttons and turning dials. Soon, the screen lights up, but then turns dark again with the words “NO FEED" highlighted across. That’s when she pulls out a little tube, and squirts it on Harry’s lower stomach after she pulls his shirt up. It’s cold, and he wants to jump away from it, but she’s pressing a wand against the gel that he hadn’t even seen her grab. He wants to smack her way, because she’s pressing onto his stomach harder than he likes his stomach prodded, and his stomach is just as swollen and sensitive as his nipples.

The room is silent for a couple of minutes. Time quickly goes by, and soon it’s been nearly 10 minutes and she’s still just searching around his abdomen for whatever it is on the screen. Harry can’t see much of a difference between any of the images that keep popping up; they all look like grainy blurs to him.

Dr Matthers sighs, gritting her teeth. “See, I’m fairly certain that it was just a false positive. You’re not pregnant."

"Oh." Nick says, and Harry looks to him. He can’t tell if Nick looks relieved or disappointed. He just looks exhausted.

Harry frowns up at the doctor, as she starts wiping off the wand. “No." He disagrees petulantly. “That can’t be right. There’s— I must be pregnant."

"I’m sorry Harry," she replies, her smile apologetic. “You should think of this as a good thing. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. But if you really want, we can schedule an appointment for you to get started up with fertility treatment of your own—"

"No," he repeats. Nick’s inching forward, a pained look on his face like Harry’s embarrassing him. “Please, just. Check again. I know there’s something in there. Isn’t that why you’ve got such a big machine? Isn’t it hard to find?"

"Yes, but it wouldn’t be this hard." The doctor turns from Harry to Nick, then back again. “Alright, Harry. If it will give you peace of mind, I will check one more time."

Nick’s moved close enough to Harry, standing above his head that he can hold his hand. Dr Matthers presses the wand back down against his stomach, looking quite tired herself. Harry just furrows his brow deeper, because he can feel the presence inside of him. He can physically feel the difference, and he has been able to for two months. The only difference between now and then is that he can put a name to the feelings.

The monitor beeps with every second that passes without locking onto a second heartbeat. Harry counts the beeps; feels like the sound is grinding into his eardrums and mocking him. Because he’s so sure, but what if he’s wrong? What would be the matter with him then?

Harry looks up at Nick standing above him, and smiles weakly. Nick’s watching the doctor’s movements intently, but he returns the smile when he notices it.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, to tell Nick that he loves him, loves him even if he isn’t carrying anything, loves him even if he’s wrong, and—

The machine stops beeping.

//

After the first appointment, time passes in a quick blur of prenatal vitamins and medical tests. The first round of prenatals that he's prescribed make him feel even more nauseous than he already is, and it takes ages for Dr Matthers to pinpoint which one it is that makes him sick, and to find a suitable replacement for it. 

They all still have no idea as to how Harry conceived. When he tells his mum, she tells him it must have been miraculous conception. Nick just tells him that if any man could grow his own uterus, it would be Harry Styles. 

The boys are ecstatic after they get past the initial shock of  _Harry's pregnant_ and  _Harry's pregnant with Nick Grimshaw's baby_ and  _we're going to be uncles._  Zayn says that he's just happy to finally find out why Harry's been so bitchy lately, and Niall tells him that he's noticed he'd put on some weight but he hadn't wanted to say anything. Liam punches Niall and tells off Zayn, explaining that Harry is now  _delicate and needs to be treated with respect_. As opposed to when Harry's not pregnant, and then he doesn't need to be treated with respect.

Louis is just happy. When he's told, to Harry's absolute horror, he starts crying. Louis never cries, and Harry's distressed over it, but Louis slams into him with a bear hug so fast that he doesn't even get the chance to fuss over him. Louis cries happily, and then after threatens to beat him up if he "ever breathes a word of this to Grimshaw". 

Harry's sort of unofficially moved in with Nick, and they've both agreed that they're going to move into Harry's because there's not enough room in Nick's place. Harry's a bit reluctant, and Nick won't stop asking him why, but when Harry finally confides as to why, Nick laughs in his face.

"You don't want to live there with the baby because it's rumoured to be  _haunted?_ " 

The other members of One Direction drown them in a sea of baby gifts. They get three bassinets from Niall, Liam and Louis, because they're rubbish at coordinating who is buying what. Louis brings practical gifts that they can actually use; sets of baby bottles, swaddling cloths, tiny unisex infant clothes, the like. He shows Harry a list he had printed off the internet, the "Newborn Checklist". He's very proud of it, and every other day he shows up at Nick and Harry's with something else that he's bought from the list.

Niall keeps sending them stuffed leprechauns and buys countless baby shirts that say "KISS ME I'M IRISH". Liam brings books, books galore. Books on how to raise a baby, books on how to not raise a baby, books on how to give birth, books on the benefits of breast feeding. Harry shelves that one right away; Dr Matthers told him that he need never worry about breast feeding, as he couldn't do it. He was just feeling like his breasts were developing as a natural reaction to the pregnancy, but he wouldn't ever be able to produce milk. Most of the books Liam buys them are focused on a female pregnancy, only one or two actually going over male.

Zayn lets himself into Harry's one day and paints the spare room that they had been planning to be the baby's room. It takes him ages, and it's only a testament of how little Harry had been at his own flat that he didn't notice until Zayn was finished and physically made him go there and look.

Zayn did a [phenomenal job](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m3z49ckBDM1rv598oo1_400.jpg). Harry was dumbfounded by how he did it all on his own. He had based it all around a crib that Nick had found that they both loved; made of white oak with light blue frills and yellow laces. He's painted the walls and ceilings the same colour as the blue on the crib and done it with an effect that made it look as if it were a cloudy sky. The far wall with the two windows and the nice window seat he's left white, but with tiny yellow stars that look like snowflakes. On the seat, he's left small white pillow with a sun embroidered on the front, with long swirling rays. 

Harry starts weeping when he sees it. He loves Zayn so much, loves them all, really. Zayn, for being so thoughtful, Liam for being so worried, Niall for wanting his baby to be a part of his culture and his family, and Louis for wanting to be there through anything. 

Nick's a bit teary-eyed as well, and he holds Harry as he cries into his shoulder. 

Nick's friends have been lovely as well. They throw a tiny party for the two of them that's easy on the gifts, but heavy on the advice and food. Aimee snaps a picture of Nick and Harry together with Harry's tiny 11 week bump, and gets it framed. She yells at Nick until they agree to let her be the godmother. 

Meanwhile, outside the party, the world explodes because the interview where Harry admits to being pregnant has just been released. But it's nice and happy surrounded by friends, and Nick’s just asked Harry to be his boyfriend and told him that he loves him, and Harry doesn't really notice.

// **13 weeks** //

He enters the second trimester with very mixed feelings.

“I mean, I’m happy about it, I suppose.” Harry rants to Nick one night as he stands back and lets Nick prepare their artfully made bed for rest. “Second trimester means that there’s less of a chance of miscarriage, and all that.”

Nick snorts a laugh. “And all that. You’ve literally just described the death of our unborn baby as ‘all that’. Aren’t you Mr Sensitive.”

“I am!” Harry protests, getting a bit upset because that’s not what he meant at All. “I am nothing but sensitive!”

“Believe me, I know.” Nick throws a pillow at Harry, who manages to both not catch the object flying at his face, and also almost tumble to the ground. “Why aren’t you happy about being in the second trimester?”

“Because,” Harry leaps onto the bed, gets worried over whether or not leaping is good for the baby, but then figures it can’t hurt. “I was reading my app, and it told me that I might get clumsy as my belly expands. I can’t afford to be any clumsier than I already am.”

“Oh, love.” Nick shakes his own hair out, until it’s a straggly mess across his forehead. Harry likes it; makes him look debauched. “I doubt you can get any clumsier. And I told you, it’s only because your limbs are ridiculous. You’ll get used to them.”

Harry muses that over. “Like a baby deer. Does it concern you that your boyfriend and bearer of your child is still growing?”

“Shut up, you sound just like Aimee.” Nick lays down beside him, much more graceful than Harry. He leans over and switches the lamp off so the room is dark.

“It’s a genuine question.”

“You make me both sound, and feel like a pedophile.”

“You’re not a pedophile.” Harry grins, suddenly feeling sexy. He rolls over with some degree of difficulty until he’s pressed up against Nick’s side. “You’re well fit.”

“I can’t have sex with you, I’m distraught.” Nick moves his hips closer to Harry.

“I’m distraught, too. Distraught you won’t have sex with me.”

Nick laughs, clear and loud, and Harry practically feels himself glow. “You sure you want to do this, then? You’re out of your, ‘don’t touch me I’m pregnant’ phase?”

Harry raises an eyebrow, and moves a hand between them so he can grab at Nick’s crotch. “Yes.”

Nick sneaks forward, skipping past the formalities and going straight for nibbling at Harry’s lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a quiet, “thank god,” as he tilts his head back and lets Harry touch him.

// **16 weeks** //

He probably couldn’t have been anywhere more inconvenient the first time the baby kicks.

The world is still in hysterics when it comes round. He supposes he could have made it easier if it weren’t three giant lumps of shock right on top of the other—Harry Styles of One Direction is gay, taken, and pregnant. Because of all of it, it can’t really be spun in any way; they can’t say that him being gay is something that he only recently realized (untrue) because then they would have to admit to Harry getting knocked up from what started as a one night stand, which was even more taboo than him being gay in the first place. They all settled for saying as little as possible about Harry’s sexuality and his relationship with Nick—preferring instead to focus on the little bundle of joy that would soon be joining the world, and how happy the rest of the boys are for him and (his boyfriend) Nick.

So naturally, Harry spends a good percentage of his time away from home and doing shitloads of press. They’re on an unofficial break between this tour and the next leg of it, resulting in a mass returning of tickets to the fans. No one really knows what is going on; Harry is going to obviously need some time up right around when they were planning on going on tour across Asia. How are they supposed to manage that?

While MGMT fumbles around like chickens with their heads cut off, they set the boys hard to work doing interviews and live appearances on TV shows. Harry and Louis even go in for an interview on Nick’s show, which is more awkward than anything. Harry doesn’t like talking to Nick when he knows that there are millions of people listening. He can’t focus when he needs to watch his tongue.

They pull up to the venue of a morning talkshow that Harry’s already forgotten the name of, and right off the bat they know that something bad is going to happen. The security is laughable, and teenage girls are pouring in from every side as they try to get as close as they can to the van they’re crowded into. And while Harry is used to getting mobbed by insane fans (If June 2013 New York taught him anything), the baby is not.

They’re halfway through the crowd, barely able to hear each other over the loud screams of overexcited teenagers, when Harry feels it.

He thinks that maybe, maybe he’s just feeling nauseous again. Maybe it’s gas. All he knows is that his stomach feels fluttery in a way that he’s never felt before. With one hand on his stomach, he buckles down and leans against Preston as he gives up all attempts at being civil and smiling for photographs with the fans who reach in with iPhones. He turns around slightly, and sees Louis who is watching him like a hawk through the crowd. When Harry catches his eye, Louis narrows his, and gets even more aggressive in his attempts to beat through everyone so he can get to Harry.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Louis says, when he finally reaches close enough that he can press his lips to Harry’s ear.

“I feel—I feel strange. My stomach feels really weird.”

Louis frowns, and he looks down at Harry’s hand on his stomach. “Strange, how? Does it hurt? Harry, does it hurt?” He demands.

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s just… I feel weird.”

It isn’t until all of One Direction is safely located inside their dressing room, chatting with Lou as she does their hair when Harry finally realizes: the baby is kicking.

“Oh.” Harry’s sat on the couch, hands folded neatly on his little belly. “Oh, the baby kicked.”

Exactly 0.4 seconds later, 4/5 of One Direction are clamoring over each other in attempts to crowd Harry and pat him down.

// **17 weeks** //

“What should we name it, then?”

“Nick, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling our child an it?”

“Well shit Harry, what am I supposed to call it? We don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy; it is a genderless concept that is just making you swollen and angry. It’s not a real thing until it’s puked on at least one of us.”

Harry tries to keep frowning at Nick, but he can’t help the giggles that manage to escape. Nick grins lazily at him, _knowing_ that he’s no longer in trouble, but nuzzles up against him anyways.

They’ve been in bed for the past hour, each quietly going about their business. Nick’s been on his laptop, sending Important Emails and writing Important Memos. Harry’s been trying to get through What To Expect: Baby Daddies Edition, but it’s rather dry and keeps referring to the male carrying as the MMother (Male Mother) and that irks him. After an hour of clacking away with only minimal conversation between the two of them, Nick closed the lid and placed the laptop on the bedside table, and turned over to cuddle up behind Harry.

Harry immediately moves back to meet Nick, snuggling into the warmth of the man who wraps his entire body around him. Nick sneaks one hand under Harry’s head, pillow style, and the other he rests gently on Harry’s stomach.

“Well, call it ‘The Baby’, or something.” Harry sighs, moving his hands to intertwine with Nick’s on his belly.

“You literally just called it an it.” Nick says, right in his ear and Harry kicks back at Nick’s shin. “Okay, sorry, sorry. Well, what should we name _the baby_ then?

Harry purses his lips, and turns over so he’s face to face with Nick. “I dunno, honestly. I thought you would have come up with something by now.”

Nick’s staring sleepily at him, eyes resting on Harry’s bare collarbones. “I’ve got lots of names. All of them dumb. And you already shot down naming our child off of 80’s popstars. I have nothing else to contribute.”

Harry humfs, wrinkling his nose. “We’re _not_ naming our child after George Michael. Nor David Bowie.”

“I still think Bowie would have been a cool name. Unisex.”

“It’s unisex because it’s not a bloody name, twat.”

Nick grumps, but they’re used to it. Since Harry’s gotten pregnant, he’s been a lot grouchier than usual. And it’s knocked something about them off-balance; because Nick’s always grouchy and he’s always been dependent on Harry being pleasant enough to put up with him. But Nick’s trying hard to be more flexible, and to be less unreasonable and demanding. Regardless, they’ve been doing a lot of squabbling.

Harry yawns suddenly, erupting from his mouth. He stretches up and behind him, moving most of the bedsheets with him as he readjusts in order to do so. Nick sighs heavily, sheets being pulled off his side and exposing his back to the cold.

He’s still watching Harry’s collarbones when the idea strikes him. “Hey,” he says, and Harry knows that voice. It’s the voice that Nick gets when he’s really excited about something. “Why don’t we name it—the baby—a bird name?”

Harry turns back over to face him, confused. “A bird name? Like, Polly the Parrot, or?”

“No,” Nick scoffs. “I mean like, a bird species, or something. Robin, or something less tacky.”

“Oh.” Harry measures the idea in his head, and comes to the conclusion that it’s not a half bad idea. “If we can find a decent bird name, why not? Where’s this coming from, though?”

Nick flushes, barely noticeable in the partial darkness. “I was looking at your tattoo.” He reaches out, and gently wipes his thumb down one of the exposed swallows. “And I was listening to Ed Sheeran today.”

Harry’s even more confused. “Ed…?”

“He’s got that song,” Nick nods, as if he’s surprised that Harry hasn’t already caught on. “Little Bird. I saw your tattoo, and I just thought that’s what we could call the baby as a nickname. ‘Hello, my little bird’.”

Harry huffs, but this time it’s a huff of approval. He’s still very emotional, and thinking about Nick imagining interacting with their baby makes him feel weepy.

He leans in, and pecks Nick’s lips gently. “I love you.” He reminds him, smiling wetly. He loves saying it. Loves telling Nick he loves him. Loves being in love.

Nick looks a fair bit weepy himself. “Love you too, dove.”

//

A few days later, Harry receives a text as he lazes around the studio.

**Been researching bird names. We’re naming our child Limpkin**

// **20 weeks** //

"Dr Matthers told me that my stomach is growing quicker than she expected."

"Oh?" Nick's got his glasses on, and is reading the paper as he sits at the island counter. Harry thinks he looks quite handsome, and he puts the spatula down that he was cooking their dinner with to walk over and kiss him on the cheek. They’ve officially migrated to Harry’s flat, and Nick’s informed his landlord that he’s moving out. Harry had to get rid of a lot of his things to make room for Nick, but he hadn’t minded.

"Yes." He nods, sagely. "She's not sure if it means that I'm actually a lot more pregnant than she thought I was initially." 

Nick puts the paper down, and peers up at him. "Well, how would that work? We hadn't had sex before 20 weeks ago."

Harry shrugs, and moves back to continue cooking. "She probably thinks we're lying. Maybe she thinks you cheated on Turner with me. Scandalous. Or that I had sex with loads of other blokes."

"Ha!"

"Yeah. She was also thinking maybe there's multiples in there, but she spent nearly 20 minutes looking and all she can find is the one. Looks like we won't be able to compete with the Duggars yet. Soz, babe."

Nick pauses, folding the paper up thoughtfully. "Could you imagine? Having the one kid is giving me a bit of a stress ulcer. I don't think I could handle more than one."

"You'd be fine." Harry scoffs, flipping the fried egg he's making for their sandwiches. "I think 5 would be my personal limit."

" _Five?_ " Nick gapes at him. "Five? At once? Or in all?"

"At once, definitely." Harry walks over, and grabs at the bread he's already toasted. "If they're all nice and spread apart, why not more?"

"You're a loon, you are." Nick shakes his head, eyeing Harry's movements. The closer that Harry gets to completing a meal, the more Nick pays attention. "Anyways, so she thinks you're more pregnant than we've let on? Drama in the OB-GYN?"

Harry twists the stove off, and puts the fried egg on the toast with a flourish. He slides it on a plate over to Nick, who grabs it and dresses it excitedly. He picks up his own plate with the sandwich he's already made up for himself, and sits down at the second place at the island. "Yeah, she didn't say it, specifically, right? But she kept giving me this look that said, 'you've slept around, haven't you?' And I think she thinks I'm this nutter who stole Turner's fertility treatment so I could steal you from him by seducing you and having your child. She thinks very highly of me, I can tell."

"Oh, babe." Nick clucks sympathetically at him as he sinks down on the chair beside him. "Is she bullying you? We can find a different doctor, if you'd like."

"No, she's supposed to be the best, right? No less than the best for our baby." Harry pats his little stomach fondly, and grins toothily at Nick.

Nick hums in acknowledgement, but otherwise does not reply as he devours the egg sandwich. Harry watches him eat for a moment, then takes his own bite. "Anyways," he continues rambling, "since we can't even properly tell her  _how_ this miracle of life came about, she's probably thinking that we... that we're..." Harry stares down at his sandwich, feeling suddenly like he's just got the breath knocked out of him. Because, he remembers.

Nick notices. "Haz? You alright?"

"I haven't had an egg in quite awhile." He murmurs, quietly.

"Oh?" Nick's brows are furrowed in confusion. "And?"

"I haven't had an egg since I stayed the night at your place right before you and Turner broke it off." Harry drops the sandwich down on the plate, and looks to Nick. He's suddenly exasperated, annoyed with his own stupidity. 

Nick still clearly isn't catching on, which isn't that surprising because Harry is being cryptic as hell.

Harry sighs, more at himself than at Nick's cluelessness. "You said that Turner used to grind his pills up in his food? I ate some scrambled eggs that were in the fridge that morning."

Nick frowns. "I don't like scrambled eggs, they weren't mine-- oh. You ate Turner’s druggie eggs. "

Harry looks dejectedly down at his sandwich. "I took his treatment, gave it a couple of days to develop, then had sex with you. I'm pregnant because I stole your boyfriend's breakfast. I'm pregnant because I ate leftover eggs."

“The unprotected anal sex may have had something to do with it too.”

Harry punches him in the arm.

// **23 weeks** //

Nick and Harry sign up for a baby class at the gym. Harry’s a bit iffy on whether or not they should go to such a public place for it, but Nick insists that they’ll be fine. Harry had always quietly assumed that Nick would be okay in the limelight, that he would be okay under the sudden pressure he’s received from being so decisively linked to Harry. But instead, Nick’s clinging onto the idea that they’re normal people, that they are just Harry and Nick and they shouldn’t get special treatment outside of fast service at restaurants, because, obviously.

An effect of that is that he has unrealistic expectations of what happens to them when they go out, especially when they go out together. The media had been mad at first, all clamoring for an interview, or a statement, or anything from Nick and Harry personally, but after awhile of them not saying a word, they’d been discouraged. That doesn’t mean that they’ve stopped getting harassed when they go out. They’re somewhat fine initially, before anyone notices who they are. But once the word gets out that it’s pregnant Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw, things get a bit out of hand.

They show up at the class five minutes late, and Harry feels slightly embarrassed by it. He apologizes profusely, tugging at his shirt that’s riding up to expose his lower stomach. It’s hard to find paternity clothes for men that he likes; the few stores that offer them don’t have his style, and pregnant people apparently don’t like wearing skinny jeans. The result is either he wears the ridiculous patterned shirts that don’t fit him anywhere except the stomach, or a lot of his old clothes, and Nick’s own that they have that fit slightly baggier. These clothes are tight on him now, and whenever he wears them Nick takes to sticking a bow (that he’s apparently carrying around with him just to torment Harry) on the top of his bump.

The other mothers (and the few fathers) there look suitably impressed to see the new arrivals, and Harry flushes a deep red as they go to take a seat on the floor. Harry trips on someone’s knee, and he would have gone flying on top of them if Nick hadn’t caught him at the last second with a slightly bored expression. At this point, Nick is used to Harry’s what has come to be extreme clumsiness. Harry is constantly in a state of falling down, post-falling down, or pre-falling down.

When they finally sit down on the mat, cross legged and facing each other, the other mums have taken out their phones and tried to take sneaky pictures. Harry turns to a few of them, smiling thinly. Nick makes no such attempts at friendliness, just raises his eyebrows in annoyance.

The class is a bit of a bust, anyways. They go over Lamaze breathing and breast feeding and other things that Harry will not, nor will he ever need. The Lamaze is slightly useful in the case that Harry ever panics, but it’s not like he’s going to be delivering naturally, so what’s the point?

Nick listens intently the whole way through, especially when the teacher starts going over for the dads and sirers how to comfort and hold their partners. Nick’s hands are so gentle, so soft as they uncertainly cup Harry’s, face focused so entirely on Harry that he feels like blushing again.

There’s an exercise where they’re all asked to stand up, and the partner carrying is asked to lean against the other with their back pressed into their front. They’re both told to place their hands on the baby bump, and sway to the music that the teacher puts on. To Harry’s delight, soon the sounds of the Beach Boys singing about how nice it would be if they could all live together in a world where they belong.

The teacher explains, since everyone in the room is well into their second trimester, that their baby’s sense of movement is now fully developed, and the baby’s can feel their dancing.

Harry asks if the baby can feel him falling and stumbling around, and everyone laughs. Harry frowns, because it’s a genuine question, but Nick just kisses the side of his cheek comfortingly.

They’re swaying along to the music when they feel the baby shuffling along as well. They’ve both felt the baby moving by this point, but the fact that the baby is _dancing_ makes it feel more special.

“Can you feel him?” Nick murmurs, and Harry can feel Nick’s smile as he nuzzles into the side of Harry’s neck.

“Him?” Harry asks quietly, raising an eyebrow but nodding happily. “Yes, I can feel her.”

Nick laughs breathily, still moving his hips and Harry’s body to the music. “Yes, I’ve got a feeling it’s a little boy.”

A nosy couple beside them speaks up. “You mean, you haven’t found out the sex yet?”

Harry huffs, but he attempts to not let his previous smile slip off his face. “We want it to be a surprise.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” The teacher interrupts them, “lets get back to the dancing!”

The rest of the class goes on with no further conversation between Harry, Nick, and the rest of the couples in the room. By the time that it’s over and it’s time to head home, a small crowd of people are peeking through the doors to the exercise room they’re in, trying to get a glimpse of Harry and Nick.

Harry just rolls his eyes, and scolds Nick the entire way back about how he doesn’t want people to photograph him when he’s so huge. Nick tells him that he’s perfect, but he doesn’t insist on doing things publically after that.

**// 26 weeks //**

On Christmas, Harry and Nick have everyone over to theirs for a feast, mainly because the alternative is going to Nick’s parents, and Harry’s parents separately, and Harry’d rather cook for 20+ people while heavily pregnant than travel to Holmes Chapel and Manchester.

Nick’s parents, Harry’s parents, Louis and Eleanor, and the other Tomlinson’s, Gemma and Liam, Nick’s elder brother and sister and their respected significant others and children, Aimee and Ian Chaloner, and a thoroughly out of place and recently dumped Matt Fincham all attend.

Harry wakes up early to cook, and he’s exhausted by noon. He goes for a nap immediately after they’ve all eaten, completely missing gift giving. He wakes up with a party hat on his belly. He goes back to sleep.

He wakes up the next morning to a completely clean flat. Nick’s sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of herbal tea ready for him, reading the paper.

“Happy day after Christmas. Your mum cleaned up.” He smiles up at Harry as he turns the page. “You got a load of presents.”

“Happy day after Christmas. All of them baby related?”

“Yup.”

Harry moans, taking a drink of his bloody herbal tea. “I am 19 years old. I should not be getting diapers for Christmas.”

Nick snorts. “Should have thought of that before.”

**// 29 weeks //**

He's yelling at Niall and Louis one night shortly after New Years, after they've invited themselves over to "babysit" him when Nick's got a red carpet thing that Harry'd been too generally disgruntled with society to attend, when it occurs to him that people probably think that he's not enjoying being a parent. 

He stops shouting at them about throwing water bottles over his head, mid sentence. They look surprised, but relieved. Harry stares at them, biting his lip. "Do you guys think I'm miserable?"

They exchange a look. "Um," Niall offers helpfully.

Louis jumps in. "Well, you don't seem not miserable, if that means anything."

Harry scowls. "No. That doesn't mean anything. That doesn't mean a fucking thing." 

Harry's dramatically stands up from where he'd been lounging for the past couple of hours, and storms off to his and Nick's bedroom. He thinks that he manages it quite well, especially considering that it's x10 more difficult to storm anywhere when he's got what looks and feels like a basketball under his shirt. 

Louis and Niall don't come after him; he actually hears them let themselves out. It makes him angrier, and even more sad. He doesn't want to be so unreasonable and shouty all the time. It just happens.

He lays down on top of the covers, spread eagle on his back. "Well baby, guess it's just you and me. I can assure you that I'm not normally like this. I'm usually a nice guy."

He imagines the baby talking back to him. _"Oh, really daddy? Tell me more."_

He sighs. "I've been a mess since getting you in me. In my belly. And it's not like, I'm resentful about having a kid when I'm only 19. I'm actually okay with that. I love you now, and I know that I'll love you even more when you're not taking up space inside of me. It's just that you've caused quite a bit of trouble for me. And you're making me very unpleasant to be around. Surprised Nick has put up with me so long."

There's a knock on the bedroom door. Harry cranes his neck to look, can't be fucked to actually get up. It's Nick, dressed all formally but with his nice tie already off and trailing from his hand. He smiles at Harry. "Sorry, felt I should knock. Didn't want to interrupt your moment."

Harry rolls his eyes, and puts his head back on the pillow. He raises one arm partially in the air. "C'mere."

Nick hesitates, and Harry can feel him measuring how much he wants out of his suit. He settles for just stripping off the trousers and the button up, throwing them rather carelessly aside. Harry will yell at him later for that, ignoring the fact that it was because of him that they're there in the first place. 

Nick throws himself in bed, making Harry bounce a bit and he bites back his annoyance. He's trying not be so awful. He really is. 

"Now," Nick simpers, once he's settled in against Harry. "What's this I hear about me putting up with you?"

Harry readjusts so that Nick can snake his arm under his neck, like a human pillow. "I was telling the baby how unpleasant I have been lately. Tell the baby that I'm not usually like this."

Nick laughs silently, but then leans as far forward as his arm behind Harry's neck will allow him. "Child, your father is not usually like this. He's usually great. Full of smiles and blowjobs. All that great stuff."

Harry swats at the back of Nick's head. "Don't talk about blowjobs to our baby. I want he or she to be at least 4 before we tell him or her about the birds and the bees."

"Right, sorry. I look forward to that." Nick pats Harry's stomach apologetically, then lays his head back down next to Harry's. "Did I say hi yet? Hello. You look lovely today."

"Hi," Harry groans, staring at the ceiling. "I appreciate it, but I look as terrible as I look every other day. I look wretched."

"You do not." Nick fusses over him momentarily, then aims a kiss at Harry's nose. He misses and gets his cheekbone instead, but he smacks his lips loudly, as if that's all the rebuttal that Harry's statement needed. 

"I do." Harry disagrees. "I look terrible, and I feel terrible, and it makes me act terrible. 'M sorry." He turns his face over to look at Nick. He's gained weight over the past couple of months, and he's sure that he's flashing at least 6 chins at Nick.

Nick rolls his eyes. "Harry." He says firmly, lifting a hand to cup the younger man's chin. "You're growing a child inside of you. You're allowed to be grumpy. And pukey. And gassy. It's all allowed."

A tidal wave of emotion rushes in at Harry. Mournfully, he replies, "but everyone thinks I'm miserable. And I don't want everyone to think I'm a shit dad before I've even had the baby."

"No one thinks you're a shit dad. Haven't you ever seen What To Expect When You're Expecting? That one lady was a fantastic mum, and she was angry for her entire pregnancy."

"That's the one with JLO, right?" Harry screws up his face. "I didn't watch it after the girl from Twilight and Chase Crawford lost their baby. I was crying so hard, I turned it off."

"Well, whatever. Point is, being pregnant sucks. I can tell, because I've got a sympathy pregnancy. No one expects you to be pleasant. Only your twatty little fellow 20 year olds don't know that, and they don't matter." Nick leans back, and switches off the bedside light, leaving only the small light Nick has between their bed and the bathroom because Nick's still unused to the house. When he curls back up to Harry, he kisses him on the nose, this time hitting his target. "You can be as terrible as you want to. Unless you're proper mean. Then we'll tell you to fuck off."

Harry coughs a laugh, unable to make himself look unimpressed. "Okay. Noted?"

"Yes, good. What did you do today?"

"What did I do today?" Harry yawns once, and Nick catches it too. "I spent 7 hours looking for pregnancy music on Songza. But I couldn't find any, so I ended up listening to 'aggressive' music all day. I'm in a right mood."

"Have you finally gotten sick of singing the gender neutral version of 'Isn't She Lovely', then? I can make you a pregnancy mix, if you'd like. It is sort of what I do for a living."

"That'd be nice." Harry suddenly smiles, remembering what he made a note to talk to Nick about this morning. "I heard the show today. I cried when the Coldplay song came on."

Nick looked unphased."I admit, that was dedicated to the thing in your womb. The stars do shine for our baby, literally. All you popstars with your shiny teeth smiling at the poor kid, gonna spoil 'em." He pauses, looking shiftily at Harry. "Did you hear the [Cloud Cult](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HoeVuEv4_Q) song? Had to duel Chloe to let me play that."

Harry shook his head slowly, turning even slower onto his side so he could look at Nick. It took him a minute of struggling, but he got there. "I didn't hear it all. How's it go?" 

"Oh," disappointment oozes from his voice. "Well, I suppose that's alright. You'd probably cry some more. 'S called 'You Were Born', and basically, it's about a baby."

Harry scoffs, pretending to be exasperated. "No, really? Would never have thought."

"Hm, don't give me attitude, Styles. Don't need your sassiness, I'm dead tired. Showquizness was literally all about you today. The question was 'what baby formula is Harry Styles planning on using?' The answer was none; you're planning on breast feeding with your multiple nipples. I confirmed it. And Dan of Dan and Phil called me right before we had to go walk with famous celebrities on the Red Carpet. He missed his bus. Who takes a bus to a formal event?"

"Oh, baby," Harry clucks sympathetically. "No one but twats take the bus to events. Dan's the fit one, yeah? He's a twat, you're not allowed to talk to him. Delete his number. He takes a bus, he can't support your lavish lifestyle."

Nick giggles, and he moves in closer to Harry in bed. "Awfully bossy. Dan's lovely, and so is Phil. Both a bit weird. Neither my type. I prefer rich and successful popstars with dimples and curly hair. Especially this one popstar in particular, with a big heart to match his big cock. He’s such a dear; feels sad about snapping at people for days after the fact."

"He sounds pretty perfect." Harry grins. "Seems out of your league."

Nick flicks Harry's ear. "Don't I know it. But, I knocked him up. He's mine forever.”

Harry grabs Nick's hand while it's near his face, and kisses his fingers, then yawns again. "Forever sounds nice. If there's forever, you don't mind if I just go to sleep, right?"

Nick smiles in a way that says that it's exactly what he had expected. "Right. Promise to gimme a handjob in the morning, and I'll wake up up with a blowjob." 

"I promise."

"Cool." Nick yawns, then kisses Harry one more time before turning onto his back. "Goodnight, love."

"G'night."

**// 32 weeks //**

He's at his eighth month appointment when it happens.

He's been feeling really off for a few days. He feels even more off balanced than usual, and he's got this strange feeling of not being well, even though he can't place why. He's looked it up, and all the websites tell him to trust his instincts, but it's probably just nerves: don't worry. It's not at all comforting, because it tells him that he above all else knows his body and how it functions.... but he's probably wrong. 

Since he can't really verbalize what it is that's wrong, he can't tell Nick. And not for lack of trying, but Nick can barely understand. He's come to accept that Harry spends the majority of his time grumpy and feeling decidedly not happy, so when he tells him he feels a bit strange, he just stocks it up to being yet another symptom the third trimester is throwing at them. He gives him extra cuddles, and nuzzles at his belly a bit more, but that's all he can really do for his boyfriend.

He goes in at 4 on a Tuesday. Harry had insisted on Nick attending this one, he didn't know why. He just knew that something important was happening, and Nick had to be there. Dr Matthers greets the couple cheerfully, and wastes no time in hooking him up to the ultrasound. 

Harry tells her about how he's been feeling odd, and Dr Matthers assures him that it's completely normal to feel that way. That having a baby is exciting, and nerve wracking, and everyone who feels completely fine is a bit off themselves.

Again, Harry is not much comforted, and he's hit with another wave of slight discomfort in his belly that means the baby is doing somersaults. He's been so delighted when he first felt the baby kick, a bit disconcerted when he first felt the baby pressing it's tiny fists against his stomach, and a bit annoyed when s/he first started tumbling around in there. The baby spent more time doing somersaults and backflips than staying still. He woke up every morning to a nice internal kick to the bladder. 

He clutches at his stomach, as he waits for the doctor to apply the ultrasound goo. Nick paws at the finer hairs at the back of his neck comfortingly, able by now to distinguish between Harry’s uncomfortable face. 

Dr Matthers glances up from her machinery at him, and smiles wryly. "You've got a future dancer in there, don't you?"

Harry forces a stiff laugh, nodding impatiently. "Ha ha, yeah." 

She looks briefly back at the screen, pauses, then down at Harry's hands on his stomach. Harry automatically feels a jolt of nervousness when he realizes that the smile has dropped off of her face, replaced by a look of confusion. 

"Harry?" She asks, voice level. "Is that where the baby is kicking? Where your left hand is?"

Harry looks down. His hand is resting at the bottom of his giant stomach, under his belly button and to the left a bit. He feels the movement, little kicks against the palm of his hand. "Er, yes?"

Dr Matthers puts down the tube of goo she had picked up. "Can I feel?"

"Yes?" Harry looks up at Nick, to see if maybe he knew what was going on. Nick looks frozen, worry clear across his face. 

Without saying another word, Dr Matthers stands up and lifts the bottom of Harry's shirt up, and pushes the elastic of his paternity pants down. Her hands are cold, and Harry wants to jump away, because he's nervous now.

Her hands rest where Harry had said he felt the movement. Her lips are pursed, but other than that she keeps her face smooth and emotionless. Slowly, she slides her hand further up towards Harry's torso, as if following the movement. She gets to the right side, and her hands stop near the top of his belly. She presses down, a bit more firm.

Right under her hand, Harry feels a little ghost of movement, an indignant kick that something had disturbed it. Harry resists the urge to giggle. His baby is silly even in utero.

The doctor does not seem to share his amusement. She withdraws her hand, looking down at both sides of his stomach. He can see the wheels turning in her head. 

"Strange." She murmurs finally, after a moment of Harry and Nick staring expectantly at her.

"What's strange?" Nick demands immediately. "What is it?"

She turns to look at him, looking a bit dazed. "I think I've figured out why Harry's grown so much bigger than we expected."

"What?" Harry squawks, feeling self-conscious for a very brief second, before nearly immediately moving on.

She's starting to look a bit more into it, and she moves to start preparing the ultrasound again. "I'll show you why."

Harry's impatient, squirming around on the plastic sheet and making an awful racket. When she does squirt the goop on him, he huffs out a breath, barely able to contain himself. Nick still looked completely lost, but Harry had this funny feeling that he just couldn't shake. She couldn't possibly mean--?

"Here's your baby." She pressed the wand into his belly, at the top right. "This is the baby you've already seen before. Say hello."

"’The baby we've already seen before’?" Nick repeats, glancing between the screen, the doctor, and Harry. "What do you mean?"

She ignores him, just slowly moves the wand down to his left side. She's staring furiously at the screen, and she looks like she's searching for something. Harry holds his breath. The three of them are quiet; the only sound being the sound of the ultrasound machine, and the tiny heartbeat of their baby. 

Nick still looks and sounds confused. "What are we looking for?"

Matthers looks at him quickly, but then back to the screen. "Your baby is too small to be kicking on both sides of the stomach. There has to be-- oh."

"Oh? Oh what?!" Harry leans back on his elbows, craning to see the grainy screen, and find out what the doctor has discovered. He doesn't see much, he's never been much good at figuring out what the blurry images meant, but maybe if he just got a good look-- oh.

A new sound starts amidst the sound of the ultrasound. Harry feels his mouth gape open, and he's 90% sure that he's crying again. 

"A second heartbeat," Nick says weakly. "That's another heartbeat."

Dr Matthers adjusts the wand one more time, then points to a small circular shape on the screen. "Congratulations. You're having twins."

All either of them can manage is breathless, nervous laughter. Harry's already dedicated himself to this; he's in this no matter what. But he sends Nick a glance that says, _"well, you in, then?"_

Nick surges forward, and kisses Harry on the mouth. "Twins. We're having twins!" 

Harry laughs, feeling relieved, reaching out to hold Nick's hand. "Yeah. We are." 

Automatically, his free hand navigates its way down to try and feel his belly. He's stopped by Dr Matthers, who is still frowning at the second fetus. "It shouldn't be there," she mutters to herself, and Harry curls his toes. "It's too far to the bottom left. I..." 

"Oh, for gods sake." Nick rolls his eyes, all traces of his previous excitement gone, but Harry can hear the undercurrent of fear. "Enough with the theatrics. What does it mean? Is it a problem?" 

She looks at the screen for another moment, before she switches off the ultrasound. "It might be. The second fetus is significantly smaller than the first, and the first is still premature. And the positioning of the second... The second fetus has been shunted extremely to the left. I'm worried for the baby’s development. Additionally, the baby's heartbeat sounds uneven. And since we can only partially see the fetus, we don't know how he or she is situated. The cord may be around the neck. You're at 32 weeks, correct?"

"Yes." Harry feels as if he's been submerged underwater. Dr Matthers looks worried; Nick looks scared. He doesn't remember how to move his limbs. He had thought that he was finished changing, for the most part. He had thought that he had already adjusted his universe to focus on this one, tiny baby inside of him. He had been wrong; he could feel his entire being shifting yet again. 

Two babies. Two lives. One was in danger. It was his responsibility to keep his babies safe. 

"32 weeks is still a bit early for delivery, but it is not so premature that the babies would be in any serious danger. They would be in an incubator for a couple of days, assuming both babies are okay. But it's ultimately your choice, Harry and Nick." Dr Matthers clenches her jaw as she smiles at them. "But keep in mind that we have no idea about the state of the second fetus. If there is something wrong with it, and you continue to full term, there may be... complications."

Nick swallows hard. "So, deliver now, or wait a few more weeks to see if one of our kids will be born dead?" 

Dr Matthers winces, but nods. "Yes, that's what is on the table."

Harry sits up. "Do it now." He turns to Nick, who nods in agreement. They don't even need to discuss it. "If it will keep them safe, do it now." 

//

Nick calls everyone as Harry is prepared for the surgery. Dr Matthers is rushing around, constantly in and out of the private room she's got for them in the mat/pat ward. By the time that she's coming back to collect Harry, several hours after the initial decision for an emergency C-section has been made, he's surrounded by a small army. All four of his bandmates are there, as are Nick's and Harry's parents (who apparently carpooled together to London when Nick called). Gemma is there, and her boyfriend is out to get some decent coffee for them. Aimee and Ian are pacing back and forth outside the room, trying not to get in the way of the staff, while Aimee simultaneously tries to keep her image of hipster aloofness intact. Nick and Harry are sat on the bed together, both sitting upright with their legs spread out, Nick's body covering Harry's from behind. Nick's got his hands on Harry's swollen belly, one on the right, and one on the left. Harry's resting his hands on top of Nick. They're both in hospital robes already; but Nick's conceal a bit more than Harry's do. They're mostly just splatter proof, to cover himself when he stands in the surgery room with Harry. 

"Guess we need another crib," Nick muses softly in his ear. 

"And another name." Harry's quietly glad that he's delivering early. It makes him feel guilty as hell, because there are still risks associated with delivering a month early, but he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't happy to not have to go into labour. He'd looked it up countless times the past few months. Because there was nowhere for the baby to go, it would just be a feeling of extreme pressure that didn't move, and didn't dissipate until the baby was surgically removed. 

"What names did you have planned?" Gemma asked, from her spot at the foot of the bed. 

Harry smiles wryly at her. "We're still not saying. Just because I'm about to give birth, doesn't mean I've gone daft."

"Sharp as a tack 'till the very end, this one." Nick kisses Harry's cheek, and Harry leans into it. 

Anne bursts into tears. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so emotional before you've even gone in there. My baby is having a baby." 

To his horror, he feels his own eyes start to prickle. Louis and Niall snicker at him, and Nick gives them the finger. "Love you mum. Glad I'm not the only emotional mess anymore."

As Anne opens her mouth to reply, Dr Matthers enters. "Sorry to interrupt," she says unapologetically, "but they're ready for you now."

Harry nods. Nick unwraps himself from behind Harry's back, but does not move far away. The rest of the people in the room watch him as Nick and the doctor guide Harry out of the room, murmuring "I love you's" and "good luck's". 

After they turn the corner, Harry leans up to whisper in Nick's ear. "Still got those names on your phone?" 

"Got the Wikipedia article bookmarked." As if Nick can't resist, he kisses Harry quick on the lips. "Don't worry, popstar." 

 

Part 3 // Parenthood

_you were born into a strange world_

It's hard to piece back together, after Harry's fully recovered. He wasn't unconscious for any of it, but it was so difficult to recall through the fog of morphine that floated in his memories of giving birth. But none of it really mattered, not really. How long the surgery took didn't really matter. How many nurses were bustling around didn't matter. How many reporters waited by the front desk after the news of Harry's family, and the rest of One Direction being spotted rushing to the hospital didn't matter (especially not after half a dozen hospital security and Gemma Styles removed them). 

What did matter, was Nick standing right at his side the entire time. He remembered that. Remembered Nick's expressions as he watched Harry's bulging stomach being cut open, and two tiny babies being removed. 

What mattered even more, was the babies. His children. First one born, at 7:57 pm on January 28, 2014, a beautiful baby boy. Weighing a (comparably) whopping 4 pounds 3 ounces, Harry’s and Nick's son is red faced, screaming and crankier than his daddy. Yet still, definitely one of the loveliest things Harry has ever seen in his life. 

Nick clutches at the baby, sheathed in fabric, and stares down in awe as the baby shrieks. Harry, incredibly high on morphine, grins sardonically. "He's definitely a Bowie." Nick nearly chokes on his own saliva.

Their second baby doesn't make a sound. And she doesn't for several weeks. She's born two minutes later, a peculiar shade of blue, 3 and a half pounds, and with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Dr Matthers later tells them that if they hadn’t had the C-section when they had, she almost definitely would have died. 

Nick only gets a glance at her, before she's being rushed away by nurses, only briefly sees the strange tint of her skin. He later tells Harry that she looked so small in their hands, he wasn't sure if she was real. 

When Harry’s all stitched up, and he’s had a nice nap, he insists on someone bringing him to see the babies. It’s the middle of the night, and Nick and Anne are the only ones who are actually allowed to stay the night with him. None of them are sure where the babies are, as none of them have actually seen them since they were swept away after the birth. Nick goes to ask a nurse on the night shift, but she tells him that the ward where the babies are isn’t open until 7am.

They spend a very uncomfortable night together. Anne eventually leaves at 1:30, and Nick keeps switching between laying in the hospital bed with Harry, and sitting at the chair beside him. Both are slightly uncomfortable, and they don’t sleep much. Harry’s nervous and jittery, and he feels stranger than he ever has. It’s like he had two human shaped holes punched out of his stomach. His stitches stung like hell, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the time passing onward, so he could see his babies.

He and Nick spoke quietly all night; neither of them sleeping. He told Harry that they had asked if they had chosen any names. He told them no, and they had a Baby Girl and Baby Boy Styles-Grimshaw. They assured him that it was normal for there to be no names yet, and that they still had a couple of days to decide.

Harry nodded, not wanting to think too deeply about the names of the kids he hadn’t yet seen beside having them flashed in his face while he was drugged. He tried not to be, but he was a bit jealous of Nick, who had held their son in his arms, and who had seen their daughter.

Nick scrolls through his phone a bit, looking through the Wikipedia article of names of birds. They were going to chose some awful celebrity name; they both knew it and loved it. If anyone had expected them to not name their child after some rare species of crustacean, or something along those lines, they had another thing coming.

At around 4, Nick starts talking about how blue the girl had been. He sounds just as scared about it as Harry feels. Something about that seems to make something occur to him, and he spends another hour looking at the names. They don’t really talk again until the sun comes up, where they just simply tell the other that they love them. Nick tells Harry that he can’t believe that he was so brave, so strong.

Louis, Anne and Robin show up at the same time; half hour before the baby ward is due to open. Louis brings Harry his first cup of coffee he’s had in months, and it just makes him even more twitchy than ever. He gets out of bed, to Anne’s disapproval, who tells him that he should be resting, but everyone ignores her.

At 5 to 7, Harry decides he’s had enough. It had been the longest night of his life, and he and Nick were ready to meet their kids. Anne and Robin were ready to meet their grandkids. Louis was ready to meet his niece and nephew.

Just as Harry is gearing up to leave the hospital room, a tired looking Dr Matthers lets herself in.

“Good morning!” She says, far too cheerfully for not yet 7am. “You alright?”

“I’m okay,” Harry says, impatiently. She’s standing in the doorway, blocking his exit. “Wanted to see the babies now.”

She smiles at him, eyes twinkling. “I thought so. So I took the liberty of getting them brought here.” She stands aside, and only then does Harry notice the two nurses waiting behind her.

They’re both wheeling incubators; hooked up carefully to machines. They walk them into the room, and sets them up on either side of Harry’s hospital bed. Harry, Nick, Anne, Robin, and Louis have backed up to the side of the room, to give them space to set things up, but as soon as they’re finished, they’re all surging forward.

Excusing Dr Matthers and the nurses, there is not one dry eye in the room. Harry feels tears streaming openly down his face, silently crying in relief because they’re both there and they’re both _okay._ Harry’s heart is in his throat, and he couldn’t describe the overwhelming feeling of love and adoration that rise up in him out of seemingly nowhere. He’d always had a big heart, and he’d always loved fiercely. But this is so different.

He finds himself in front of the boy with Louis. Anne, Nick and Robin had darted to the girl before he had a chance to decide between the two of them. He’s pink and gorgeous with light brown hair, and Harry loves him already more than he’s ever loved anyone. His skin looks soft, and slightly translucent, but he looks reasonably healthy. He just looks like a very, very small newborn.

“Fuck,” Harry coughs a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Louis’ voice sounds wobbly, breaking a little bit.

He looks briefly up at Louis, then across the bed at Nick. “He does look like a Bowie.”

Nick turns to look at him, face lit up bright. “Ha!” He calls, triumphantly. “I knew it would stick!”

“’Bowie’?” Louis repeats, incredulously. “You’re naming my nephew Bowie? Have you lost your mind?”

“Nope,” Harry sighs, but gestures for Louis to look at the baby in the incubator. “I’m not thrilled about it, either. But look at him, and tell me that he isn’t a Bowie. All I think is Bowie.”

Louis frowns, squinting at the baby, kicking his arms and legs ferociously. Louis leans further in, and the baby cries out shrilly, and Louis darts back. “He doesn’t look like a Bowie. He looks like… a Louis Jr.”

None of them bother replying to that. Nick and Harry switch sides, and Harry goes to join his mother and step-father at his daughter’s side. Anne is resting her head on Robin’s shoulder, staring down at the little girl with a slightly tight smile on her face. Robin has a similar expression.

Harry puts his face right against the incubator, and he immediately knows why they don’t look as joyful as they had before.

The baby is so, so tiny. She looks like she would fit in his hand, with room to stretch out if newborns could do that sort of thing. Her lips are pink, but the rest of her is a bizarre shade that verges between pink, purple, and blue. Her skin looks slightly greasy in some places, but in others she’s clearly covered in a fine little white hairs. She’s oddly still, the only movement she makes is the slight little rise and fall of her chest as she breaths, and the flutter of her eyelashes as she opens and closes them rapidly. He can see that her eyes are a dark blue, but he remembers reading somewhere that all newborns have blue eyes at birth. She has hair similar to her brothers, but hers is matted down to her skull while his goes everywhere, and hers seems a lot more sparse.

Harry feels his breath knocked out of him. “She doesn’t look like she should be alive.” He whispers.

Dr Matthers walks up behind him, peering at the baby girl over his shoulder. “She’s a tough one, she is. Half the nurses thought she wouldn’t survive the night. Her heart was beating unevenly for a few hours, with no apparent medical cause. But, it’s righted itself. Her heart beats a bit faster than her brother’s, but she’ll be alright.”

“How long will she have to stay in the hospital?” Anne turns from Robin, looking serious. “How long will both of them stay?”

Matthers pulls a face. “That really depends on a lot of factors. We’ll want to keep them both for at the very least, a week to ensure they’re eating and breathing normally. Typically, a premature baby will stay for as many weeks as it takes to get to where it would be full term. At 32 weeks, I’d estimate maybe 3-4 weeks in the hospital, at least for the baby girl. The boy, if all things go well, will most likely be able to go home in 2 weeks. He seems healthy and strong, for a baby of his size. And he’s got quite the pair of lungs on him. Have you decided on names, by any chance?”

“Yes,” Nick replies as Harry says, “no.” Harry ignores Nick. “Can we hold them?”

Dr Matthers chuckles at Harry’s enthusiasm. “Hm, nurses will likely get you to try and bottle feed your son in about an hour. The nurses last night didn’t have a problem feeding him from the bottle, but we’re going to keep your daughter on a tube. It’s safer for her.”

Harry nods, and shoots Nick a look that says _I’m feeding him_. Nick raises his eyebrows, but seems amused and compliant.

Anne asks a few more questions of the doctor, but Harry starts to tune them all out. He stands over his daughter’s incubator, taking in every tiny detail of her in case… Well, just in case.

“Nick, look.” He points at her leg, and Nick comes around the bed to squint at what his boyfriend is pointing out. “Look at her little birthmark.”

“It looks like,” Nick leans in close, pressing his nose against the plastic of the incubator. Then quickly, he straightens back up. “It looks like—“

“A bird.” Harry interrupts, laughing incredulously. They glance at each other, matching smiles growing wider on their faces.

//

They bring Bowie William Styles-Grimshaw home on February 17, a bit over 2 weeks after he’s born. They had all spent Harry’s birthday in the hospital, spending as much time with the two beautiful babies as possible. Zayn and Perrie sneak up a big cake, that all the nurses turn a blind eye to, because everyone is a little bit in love with Nick and Harry and their two little babies. Harry spends his 20th birthday with his friends and his family, with one twin held in each arm.

The time they have at home with Bowie is hectic. As it turns out, neither of them had been fully prepared for a newborn baby. They’re up half the night trying to figure out what Bowie is screaming about, and they’re in the hospital with their daughter all day, dodging rabid paparazzi everywhere in between. They'd released a statement a couple of days after the birth, and added in a rather pointed 'please leave us the fuck alone', which had been thoroughly ignored. They’re thankful that they have the time to learn to cope with one baby before they’re to take care of two; it’s practice for when their daughter arrives and they’re trapped with one screaming infant, and one sickly one. But Bowie is sweet; nearly constantly hungry, and in a perpetual state of motion, wriggling around wherever he is. He’s only two weeks old, but he’s already got a big personality, and all of them can tell. Louis’ mum wishes he and Nick good luck, elbowing Louis in the side, as she points out how Louis had been identical to Bowie when he was a baby.

And they take home Spix Styles-Grimshaw a month and 4 days after they’re born. They chose to not give her a middle name, no matter how many times that Nick claims that it’s Beyoncé. She’s named after a [nearly extinct macaw](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spix's_Macaw), a lovely blue in colour. Nick suggests it, and Harry can’t help feel like it fits perfectly. She was born blue and endangered. Their little bird.

Spix is the polar opposite of her brother. She’s just shy of 5 pounds when she’s released, and she’s so tiny and soft that they can’t help but be reminded that she’s incredibly fragile. She doesn’t eat well, always spits up at least a bit of her formula after she’s eaten. But she’s quiet; the only time that they ever hear her make a sound is when she’s really hungry, and even that sounds more like a weak kitten’s mewling than a human baby. She loves being held, and will just kick around unhappily when she’s put down.

But as time goes by, and as Nick and Harry become less nervous around handling the twins, things get better. Things get a lot better. 4 months after the birth of the twins, after Nick’s gone back to work, Spix is more solid, and she feels less likely to fall apart in your arms. She’s shed her lanugo, and her skin has long adjusted to a pale, creamy pink, similar to Harry’s own.

Nick and Harry are lying down in their bed one afternoon, Spix and Bowie on their backs in between them. They use their bodies as walls between the babies and the edges of the bed, so that there is not chance of them tumbling off the edge. Not that was much of a concern for Spix, but Bowie has a habit of nearly going headfirst off of things. So far, no accidents have occurred, and they’d like to keep it that way.

Harry is leaning on his elbow, tracing a finger down Spix’s face, down her little nose, when he hears the unmistakable click of an iPhone camera. He looks up at Nick, not even noticing the man taking out his phone. But then again, he had very little mind for anything that wasn’t related to Spix’s or Bowie’s direct well-being.

Nick smiles softly. “My favourite green-eyed monsters. I hope she grows up as pretty as you.”

Harry laughs, loud and carefree. “No, I hope they both grow up as good looking as their Papa. Bowie looks like you, dead on. Same eyes, and all.”

“Still gutted that you got Daddy, and I got stuck with Papa.”

“Hey, next time you carry around two life forms in your stomach for a couple of months, you can chose your title.”

Nick nods, shrugging as well as he could while lying down. “Yeah, makes sense.” He taps at his phone for another moment, and he shows Harry that he’s uploaded it to Instagram. Harry sees it for half a second, shrunk down on the caption screen, but he can still see he and Spix quite clearly. He even sees Bowie’s little foot, wrapped in a little Irish flag sock.

He shakes his head, infinitely fond of all of them. He knows, objectively, that a lot of people are going to see that photo, and a lot of people are going to be angry about it. He knows, that he’s put his career on hold, and that there are people angry about that too. He knows that people are angry that he’s gay, and that he’s had a baby, and that he’s with Nick Grimshaw, and that he’s never going to marry them. He knows that there are people so hateful that they’re going to post horrible things about him and his boyfriend, and maybe even about his children. He knows that there are people saying he’s too young; that his baby names are stupid; that he’s irresponsible and careless.

But he also knows that there are people who are nothing but happy for him. He knows there’s people that support and adore him, and he knows this because he’s surrounded by them. His real fans. His parents, and his sister, and his step-brother. Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn, who are his friends first, bandmates second. Bowie, who he’s known about for a full 12 months now, and loved throughout every second of it. Spix, who was a welcome surprise, who taught him every day that weakness doesn’t last forever, and obstacles don’t define you.

And Nick, who had wanted a baby with one man, ended up with two with a different one. Nick who had slept with him, then walked out, but with every intention of walking back. Nick, who did stupid shit, and who annoyed him more than half the time, but it was Nick… who he loved not only for their children, but for his character, because he could put his guard down around him and feel safe, and because he couldn’t not be in love with him.

He knows about the people tripping over themselves to be the first to insult him, and all that makes him happy.

But he also knows that not one of them could ever make him love anything in his life any less passionately than he does while lying there that afternoon, with his whole heart lying in bed with him.

**// END //**

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also sorry for naming them after david bowie and the bird from rio


End file.
